The Price of Fame
by Opera Cloak
Summary: The Phantom movie has just gone into production, and Erik is growing tired of his celebrity status.
1. The Eurovision Song Contest

Author's note: This story is experimental, so please don't take it too seriously. It isn't strictly a humour fic, but I hope you will find parts of it funny. It's about how Erik might view his celebrity status if he was a real person (an immortal one, at that.), and how the approach of the new Phantom movie affects his privacy and his everyday life (This sounds totally bizarre, I know, but please bear with me.).  
  
Oh, and one more thing: This story is not my way of expressing my views about the Phantom movie, so anything I do say about it should not be taken seriously. Although I do mention the names of real people (Andrew Lloyd Webber, Joel Schumacher, etc), they will not feature as actual characters in my story, so hopefully it won't offend anybody.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. Erik's character is mainly taken from ALW and Gaston Leroux, and Nadir's character from Leroux and Susan Kay.  
  
I hope you enjoy this story! (fingers crossed!).  
  
The Price of Fame  
  
Chapter One: In Which the Author of this Singular Work Informs the Reader of How, Not for the First Time, Erik is Severely Traumatised by The Eurovision Song Contest.  
  
It began on the evening of the Eurovision Song Contest. The Phantom of the Opera was sitting in his comfortable armchair, gazing at the television screen in anticipation. His hand trembled against his glass of bourbon.  
  
'Perhaps things will be better this year,' he thought, with uncharacteristic optimism. He was to be disappointed.  
  
The music began, the lead singer opened her mouth, and the Phantom's glass shattered in the stone fireplace. Half a second later he was crawling around the floor in agony, his hands over his ears, desperately seeking the magic piece of plastic which would turn off the TV and free him from this torment.  
  
It was nowhere to be found.  
  
He crawled over to the coffee table and began to fling musical scores out of the way in desperation. It had to be there somewhere!  
  
The singing, meanwhile, reached a discordant crescendo, and the Phantom was flung back against the wall, knocking over his crystal decanter as he went. It shattered, and he cursed loudly.  
  
'Erik?' A familiar voice suddenly rose above the terrible din. 'Erik, are you there?'  
  
Nadir! Saints be praised! The Phantom stumbled towards his front door, and drew back the bolts with clumsy, shaking fingers. He looked into the eyes of his friend, gave a little whimper, and flung his arms around him.  
  
The Daroga detached himself from Erik's desperate embrace and looked at him in concern.  
  
'Erik, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost!'  
  
The Phantom was too shaken to say anything legible. 'Euro-Euro-help-me-' he gasped faintly, and collapsed at Nadir's feet.  
  
Nadir was a little perplexed, to say the least. Erik was usually so strong and brave. In all the years he had known him, Nadir had only seen the Phantom reduced to this state by two things. One was that pretty little soprano called Christine, the other was-  
  
'Erik,' he said, looking down at the muffled black bundle sternly. 'Have you been watching the Eurovision Song Contest again?'  
  
Erik looked up at Nadir with large, frightened eyes. 'I might have been. Nadir, please turn off the TV.'  
  
Nadir opened the door to Erik's drawing room, and the wall of sound hit him with incredible force, throwing him back against the wall. Erik reached out and grasped his ankle.  
  
'Nadir-' he gasped, weakly. 'My dear friend - run - save yourself - don't sacrifice your life for my sake-'  
  
Nadir pulled himself together and turned towards the door with a determined expression.  
  
'No,' he said, bravely. 'I'm going in!' And he charged into the room.  
  
'My God, Nadir, be careful!' Erik cried, crawling after him. He entered the room just in time to see Nadir press a large black button on the TV. Silence fell, and Erik collapsed into his chair with a deep sigh.  
  
'Oh, Nadir, what would I do without you? I thought you needed the, you know, the magic plastic thing to turn off the TV.'  
  
'You mean the remote.'  
  
'The remote! That's it! Oh God, Nadir, why do I put myself through this torture every year?'  
  
Nadir thought for a moment. 'Because you love music, because you enjoy looking for new talent, or simply because you're mad?'  
  
'Hmmmm, the third reason, I think. Please sit down, Nadir. Did you want to see me about something?'  
  
The Daroga nodded, and reached into his pocket. He produced a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to the Phantom.  
  
'I thought you ought to see this.' It was a newspaper clipping.  
  
Erik balanced his spectacles on the bridge of his mask and began to read:  
  
Phantom of Cinema  
  
Musical composer and impresario Andrew Lloyd Webber has bought back the film rights to his hit musical, 'The Phantom of the Opera,' from Warner Brothers. The film, which is yet to be cast, will now be directed by Joel Schumacher and produced by The Really Useful Group. Filming is due to begin next autumn and a preliminary release date has been set for December 2004.  
  
Erik closed his eyes in despair. 'Oh, no,' he sighed. 'I thought all this had blown over ages ago. Is it really true?'  
  
Nadir nodded. 'It sounds pretty final. I read on the internet that they've ordered the chandelier. That's always a bad sign.'  
  
Erik gazed down at the article on his lap. 'Nadir, this is dated three months ago! Why didn't you tell me sooner?'  
  
Nadir looked embarrassed. 'I didn't know how you would react. I thought you might be upset.'  
  
'Damn right I'm upset!'  
  
'And - I was waiting for confirmation -'  
  
'Confirmation? They've ordered the chandelier, for heaven's sake! How much confirmation do you need?'  
  
'I was waiting for them to announce the casting-'  
  
'And?'  
  
Nadir trembled. Erik, so traumatised by the Eurovision Song Contest only moments before, was now dangerously close to one of his blind rages. He handed the angry Phantom another piece of paper.  
  
'Here's the cast list as it now stands.'  
  
Erik quickly scanned the page, then proceeded to tear it into shreds.  
  
'I can't let this happen, Nadir.'  
  
'Oh, come now, Erik. The cast's not that bad!'  
  
'It isn't the cast I'm worried about - it's the publicity.'  
  
'Why? You love publicity. You -' Nadir broke off when he saw Erik's embarrassed expression. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten the events of the past few years. 'Oh, I'm sorry. It slipped my mind.'  
  
'That's alright, Nadir. I'm getting tired. I think I'll have an early night.'  
  
Nadir got the message. He paused in the doorway, and looked back at his friend. 'Erik, please don't dwell on it. Everything will turn out alright in the end. The managers will understand.'  
  
Erik did not reply, and Nadir left him alone.  
  
Erik crawled into bed in a state of great anger and misery. The truth was that he, the powerful, romantic, omnipotent Phantom of the Opera, was actually starting to feel rather scared.  
  
He snuggled down beneath the sheets and thought about his career - and all the publicity which went with it.  
  
It had all started with Gaston Leroux, of course. Up until the spring of 1910, Erik had lived a solitary life in the cellars of the Opera House, struggling to come to terms with his grief at the loss of his beloved Christine. He had almost managed to put the past behind him when that curious little man had knocked on his door. How he had managed to find his subterranean home Erik did not know. He often suspected Nadir had something to do with it. He had been angry at first, but had finally granted Leroux's request for an interview. After all, it might do him good to get it all off his chest -  
  
For three months, Leroux, under Erik's supervision, had worked on a novel entitled 'Le Fantome de l'Opera.' Pure fabrication, most of it - but it was interesting fabrication. The sort of fabrication that would SELL. The book was published, and Leroux and Erik shared its modest takings. And then they had parted, and the novel faded into obscurity. Erik went back to leading his solitary life, and nothing troubled him for thirteen years.  
  
In 1924, Leroux had turned up again out of the blue, along with a producer from Universal Studios. Would Erik please let them make a film version of his fascinating story? They had a director, a screenwriter, and a wonderful cast lined up, they said. The film would make thousands, they said. 'The Phantom of the Opera' would be a household name, they said. Erik had been rather flattered. 'All right,' he said.  
  
For a solitary Gothic monster who wished to enjoy his immortality in peace, this had been a huge mistake. But Erik hadn't realised this back then. He was starstruck, and he felt happier and more alive than he had since Christine had been with him. He basked in the glow of the movie's success and watched happily as swarms of people rushed to cinemas across America. The producer launched a ridiculous range of Phantom-inspired merchandise. There were Phantom sweets, Phantom slippers, Phantom beauty cream, Phantom chandelier alarms, and the money kept rolling in. Everyone knew who the Phantom was.  
  
Throughout the twentieth century, Erik's story had been adapted in many different ways. Films, ballets, plays, musicals - and Erik, although he was ashamed to admit it now, had loved every minute. None of the versions were as commercially successful as the original motion picture, but they enjoyed modest success. Erik had gone along to the premieres with delight, smiled and waved at his admirers, and made a tidy profit, while still managing to enjoy his normal, ghostly existence. Until the aforementioned famous composer had come along, that is -  
  
In 1986, a huge, multi-million pound musical version of Erik's story opened in London's West End. Erik had gone along to a preview and had enjoyed the show, but he could never have anticipated its success. The audiences loved it, and it rapidly became one of the top shows in London. It opened on Broadway in 1988, and went on to tour the world. Audiences flocked to see it, and it inspired a huge range of spin-offs: movies, fanfiction, novels, more musicals - the like of which had never been seen before. Erik had, he realised, become a phenomenon. It was now 2003, and the musical was still playing to packed houses throughout the world.  
  
Erik had been pleased by the musical's success, but it had heralded the arrival of a most curious phenomenon. The Phantom Phan.  
  
Erik shuddered. The Phantom Phans had caused both his rise to stardom and, as far as the Opera House's managers were concerned, his downfall.  
  
Erik, to his vast surprise, had woken up one morning to find that he had become an unlikely sex symbol. He had millions of admirers, who loved him for his seductive singing voice, his dark, angst-ridden personality, and his eccentric, romantic appearance. They wrote stories about him, devoted entire websites to him, and visited his Opera House simply to see where the legendary Phantom was rumoured to dwell.  
  
Erik had loved the attention at first. For the first time in his life, he had actually felt attractive, and, above all, loved. He went to first and last nights of his show decked out in the finest silk and velvet, and the royalty payments he received from the show's producer had allowed him to refurbish his lair. He bought a TV, a microwave, a sound system, a DVD player and a karaoke machine - everything which a young, sexy, high-flying Phantom could possibly want. Nadir, meanwhile, had become his unofficial manager, signing contracts with producers, handling his financial affairs, and bringing him his phanmail by the sack full. (He was also the only person who knew how to operate the microwave, so over the years he had become indispensable to Erik.)  
  
And then it had all started to go wrong. As the musical had grown in popularity, more and more Phantom Phans had started to flock to the Opera House, in the hope of meeting the mysterious Phantom. Most were well behaved, but an increasingly large number had started to creep down to the cellars without permission from the staff. A few times recently they had come dangerously close to discovering Erik's lair. The managers, who had at first loved the publicity of harbouring a famous Gothic monster in their cellar, were growing tired of the whole affair. Erik was a benevolent being -well, usually. Sometimes, at least - but the managers did not know this. They feared that one of the Phans would meet with a serious 'accident,' and that would lead to too much publicity by far!  
  
Several years previous to the current time, Nadir had delivered a letter to Erik from the managers, which expressed their anger at the unprecedented invasion of their Opera House. They issued Erik with an ultimatum: if he did not keep out of the public eye from now on, the Phantom would be forced to leave the Opera House.  
  
Erik turned over in bed with a deep sigh. He had managed to keep a low profile for some time now, and the number of Phans visiting the Opera House had not increased. Now the film was being made, however, the Phantom of the Opera would once again be everywhere. On TV screens, on cinema screens, in 'making of' documentaries, in books, everywhere. They might even produce action figures! Erik groaned. He was heading towards what would probably be his greatest hour of fame, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was certain that, as soon as the managers heard news of the film, they would be knocking on his door and issuing him with an eviction order.  
  
Erik sighed again, and silently bid farewell to both his underground home and his peace of mind, before sleep mercifully delivered him from his tortured thoughts.  
  
Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please review! Oh, and for those of you (mainly those in America, I should think) who are not familiar with the Eurovision Song Contest, here is a brief explanation of what happens in it. Basically, every country in Europe (apart from those who scored the lowest number of points the year before) enter a song into the competition. Some songs are good, some are dreadful, and some are downright bizarre. Each country gives a certain number of points to the countries whose songs they like most, and the country with the most points wins.  
  
In other words, just imagine a music show which Erik would not watch in a million years. It has to be seen to be believed. 


	2. At The Black Rose

Author's Note: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I'm actually quite surprised that this has met with such a positive response. I began writing it back in the summer, and I think the heat was affecting my sanity slightly. I was suffering from severe writer's block with my serious fic, and I wanted to write something different. I decided to think of the most bizarre first sentence with which to begin a Phantom story as I could. It just happened that the Eurovision Song Contest was on that night, and I thought, of course! 'It began the evening of the Eurovision Song Contest'! (I have these weird thought processes sometimes).  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera.' Erik and other characters featured in the novel and the musical belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. 'Dracula' belongs to Bram Stoker, and 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley.  
  
On with the story! I hope you enjoy!  
  
'The Price of Fame'  
  
Chapter Two: At The Black Rose  
  
The Black Rose was one of London's more exotic, interesting wine bars. Located in a darker corner of the West End, and a safe distance away from Her Majesty's Theatre, there was no better place for the Phantom of the Opera to enjoy a quiet drink.  
  
Erik was sitting in a shadowy alcove containing a table and three empty seats, nursing a glass of red wine. He was wearing his best mask, an evening suit with a heavily embroidered waistcoat, and a cloak embellished with tiny pieces of jet, but no one took any notice of his unusual appearance. This was because The Black Rose was frequented by Goths and various other flamboyant arty-types, who often made Erik's dress sense seem rather dull in comparison.  
  
Erik sighed deeply. If only he was here for a quiet drink! No such luck, of course. It was that time of year again, and he was here to celebrate Dracula's five-hundred-and-seventy-third birthday, along with the vampire's new lady friend and Frankenstein's Monster.  
  
Erik stifled a groan. It wasn't that he didn't like Dracula. On the contrary, he thought him a most charming and intelligent gentleman. Unfortunately, there had been - Erik searched for a way to describe his vampiric troubles - artistic differences between them. Dracula had always been bigger than the Phantom of the Opera, and Erik had to admit to feeling a certain amount of professional jealousy. Their uneasy relationship had taken a turn for the worse during the troubled production of 'The Vampire of the Opera,' a film which Erik and Dracula had set out to make together as a cross between the two stories. The problems had arisen during discussions over how much 'vampire' and how much 'opera' there should be in the movie. Dracula, with typical arrogance, had automatically presumed that he would be the hero, saving his beloved Christine from the clutches of the evil Phantom, transforming her into a vampire, and taking her back to his castle in Transylvania, where the two of them would then proceed to live happily ever after for all eternity.  
  
Erik, of course, had been absolutely disgusted with this proposed plot. Evil? HIM? Sure, he had killed people from time to time, but at least he didn't drink blood! He had told Dracula this over a rather uncomfortable 'meal' in one of Hollywood's top restaurants. (The meal's discomfort was understandable, because it had Dracula's fangs embedded in its neck at the time). It hadn't done any good. Dracula had simply proceeded to lecture Erik on the importance of respect for other cultures and races, regardless of their culinary traditions. Erik had then accused Dracula of overreacting, but had hastened to add that he thought the culinary traditions of vampires were disgusting, and that he didn't want to make a stupid movie featuring one anyway. 'Fine,' said Dracula. 'And I don't want to be seen in the company of a man who wears an evening suit to go to a burger bar.' And he had stormed out of the restaurant.  
  
Erik sipped his wine and smiled to himself. Dracula had come running back, of course. He had received a phone call from him back in 1984. The vampire explained rather tearfully that his castle had just been stormed by an angry mob, waving pitchforks and flaming torches. This was not an unusual occurrence in itself, but unfortunately this particular mob was after the rent, which was fifty years overdue. Dracula had invested so much money into his movie production company that he could not afford to pay the intruders, who had consequently proceeded to repossess the castle and turn it into a theme park.  
  
The upshot of these unfortunate events was Erik inviting Dracula to stay at the Opera House until he got back on his feet. Erik had great fun giving Dracula a crash course in 'How to Succeed in the Arts,' which had involved a lot of threatening letters, maniacal laughter, screaming ballet dancers and shattered chandeliers. Ahhhh, such memories!  
  
Dracula had since moved back to Carfax, his London home, and Erik had made a habit of coming over to visit him once or twice a year. On one occasion, they had gone along to the Goth weekend in Whitby, a small seaside town up in the north of England which Dracula had acquired a fondness for. Here, they had met Frankenstein's Monster ('Frank' for short). Dracula and Erik had taken a liking to him, and he soon became a good friend. They had been meeting up once a year ever since, to celebrate Dracula's birthday.  
  
Although Erik had generally got on well with Dracula ever since the mob incident, there were still occasions when the vampire annoyed him. He was a flamboyant character, even more so than the Phantom, and he had a tendency to speak his mind in a way which was often downright embarrassing. Erik sighed. He just hoped that it wouldn't end badly tonight.  
  
Awaking from his reverie, Erik became aware that the bar had gone strangely quiet, and he looked up to see that a tall, lank figure had suddenly materialised in the doorway. It wore a long, black leather trench coat over a full-sleeved New Romantic-style shirt. It had a pale complexion, a sharp aquiline nose, luminous red eyes and very dark hair slicked back off its forehead. A red beret was perched on its head in a distinctly artistic manner. It scanned the staring faces, caught sight of Erik, and gave a toothy grin. Then it clapped its hands together.  
  
'Drinks for everyone!' It cried, in a thick, East-European accent.  
  
The other customers went back to their friendly chatter. After all, anyone who was kind enough to buy them a drink couldn't possibly be a threat to humanity.  
  
Dracula smiled again and peered outside. 'It's OK, Frank. You can come in now.'  
  
A massively-built figure, wearing a leather jacket, jeans and heavy boots crept cautiously into the bar and eyed the occupants nervously. It had long, lustrous black hair and a lot of stitches. It also had Erik's complete sympathy.  
  
The two eccentric figures approached the Phantom's table, and he stood up to greet them.  
  
'Dracula, Frank, how lovely to see you.'  
  
Dracula gave Erik a strong, cold handshake. 'Erik, my dear old chap! Delighted to see you!'  
  
'Happy birthday.'  
  
'Thank you! My, you do look well! Still wearing the evening suit, I see!'  
  
Erik gave an embarrassed smile and turned to Frank.  
  
'And how are you today?'  
  
Frank smiled shyly. He liked Erik. Erik spoke to him like an equal, unlike Dracula, who often spoke to him in a patronising way. He also admired Erik's image and had been known to copy his hairstyles.  
  
'I'm alright. Had a bit of trouble earlier when my arm fell off, but it's all sorted now.'  
  
Erik smiled. 'Great. Please sit down. Can I get you a drink? Some claret, perhaps?'  
  
Frank nodded. 'Yes please, Erik.'  
  
'Dracula?'  
  
'No thanks. I don't drink - wine.'  
  
'You don't have to drink wine. They sell lots of other drinks here.'  
  
'No. I mean, I don't drink - any sort of beverage, alcoholic or otherwise, manufactured for consumption by mortals.'  
  
'Right. Good.' Erik turned towards the bar.  
  
'But I will have some peanuts.'  
  
Erik stared at him in disbelief.  
  
'You eat peanuts?'  
  
'What? No, no, my dear chap. I don't eat peanuts. I count them.'  
  
'What's the point of that?'  
  
Dracula shrugged. 'Apparently vampires have an unhealthy fascination with seeds and grains of rice. If someone throws a handful on the floor, vampires have an irresistible urge to stop whatever they are doing and count every single seed. It's news to me, but I'm playing a compulsive obsessive vampire in my next movie and the director says I need to get into practice. Be a pal and get me a packet of peanuts and pour them on the table, will you?'  
  
'Right.'  
  
Erik walked over to the bar, and gave a deep sigh. It was going to be a long night.  
  
'I'll have a packet of peanuts and a bottle of claret, please. Better make it a large one.'  
  
The bar maid smiled at him. 'Hey, you're the Phantom of the Opera, aren't you?'  
  
Erik leaned forward. 'Yes,' he whispered, conspiratorially slipping her a twenty pound note. 'Please don't tell anyone.'  
  
He took the drinks and peanuts back over to the alcove, poured the peanuts on the table, and sat down.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence which Erik felt obliged to break.  
  
'So, Dracula. When is your lady friend joining us?'  
  
Dracula looked up from counting his peanuts. 'What? Oh, she said she'll be about half an hour.'  
  
'You haven't told me anything about her. What's she like?'  
  
'Well, she's very pretty, and very kind and gentle.'  
  
'Do I know her?'  
  
'No, no. I don't think so.'  
  
This seemed to be all the information which Dracula wished to impart. There was another uncomfortable silence. Erik was starting to sense that something wasn't quite right. Dracula seemed strangely preoccupied, and not his usual gregarious self.  
  
'Hey, where's Nadir tonight?' Said Frank, attempting to lighten the mood.  
  
Erik shrugged. 'Oh, he's probably wandering around the Opera House looking mysterious on my behalf.'  
  
'Wow! I wish I had a friend like Nadir!'  
  
'Yeah, Nadir's great. He's really great.'  
  
Yet another silence followed, broken only by the sound of Dracula counting peanuts.  
  
'Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven.'  
  
Erik was getting fed up with this.  
  
'Dracula!'  
  
'Thirty - What? Oh, now you've made me lose count! I'll have to start all over again now!'  
  
'I'm sorry. It's just that you seem a bit - preoccupied. Are you alright?'  
  
'Yes, yes. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Isn't it, Frank?'  
  
He nudged Frank, who immediately sprang into life. 'Oh, yes! Of course it is, Erik! So - Did anyone see the Eurovision Song Contest the other night?'  
  
Dracula smiled at Frank gratefully. At least the Eurovision Song Contest was a nice neutral topic of conversation.  
  
'Yes! The Turkish entry, my God! And as for that Greek woman in the backwards corset - it just doesn't bear thinking about.'  
  
'Did you see it, Erik?'  
  
Erik downed a very large mouthful of claret. 'Yes. I am still greatly shaken by the whole experience. That was the same night I found out about the new Phantom movie.'  
  
Dracula looked at him with pity in his eyes. 'Yes, we heard about that. You have my deepest sympathies. I do hope all goes well.'  
  
'It had better, because if there's too much publicity the rotten managers will kick me out.'  
  
'Oh, I'm so sorry. Hey, you know what you should do?'  
  
'What?'  
  
'You should go on a rampage through the Opera House, like in the old days! Shatter a few chandeliers, hang a few people from the flies, put itching powder in the Prima Donna's wig, that sort of thing.'  
  
Erik stared at Dracula incredulously. 'And just what, may I ask, would that achieve?'  
  
'Why, it would scare the managers half to death! Really Erik, what's wrong with you these days? When was the last time you kidnapped a chorus girl? Or laughed maniacally during a performance?'  
  
'And your point is?'  
  
Dracula leaned over the table and patted Erik's hand. 'I just think you're going a bit soft, old boy. I'm worried about you.'  
  
'Soft? Me? How dare you!'  
  
'I don't mean to be insulting. It's just that I think this whole fame thing has gone to your head. You're so busy behaving and pleasing your Phans that you've lost sight of your true purpose in life, which is to be a threat to society and generally make a nuisance of yourself.'  
  
'You have to get your priorities right,' Frank agreed tentatively.  
  
Erik glared at him. 'Not you as well! You're supposed to be on my side!'  
  
Frank trembled at Erik's harsh tone. 'I'm only being honest,' he whimpered.  
  
'It's not a question of taking sides, Erik,' continued Dracula. 'It's just that we're meant to be monsters! We're meant to stick together! And when one of us strays from the flock it's the duty of the others to help him.'  
  
Erik stared at him in disbelief. 'Strays from the flock? What on Earth are you talking about?'  
  
'Oh, come off it Erik! You know exactly what I'm talking about! I'm referring to the way you pander to all those producers, and those dear little Phans of yours!'  
  
'Don't you dare bring my Phans into this!'  
  
'Don't you see, Erik? They've made you go soft! They've corrupted you and made you a better person! Doesn't it strike you as odd that the Phantom gets more attractive and sympathetic in every version they bring out? That's because the producers want to make you perfect so they can please the Phans!'  
  
'Nonsense!'  
  
'It's not nonsense! And I can prove it!'  
  
There was a slight pause, and Erik folded his arms. He was now at that particularly dangerous stage when his inner fury was concealed behind a façade of patience and amicability. He smiled at Dracula in a friendly yet extremely intimidating manner.  
  
'Please do,' he said simply.  
  
There was a tense moment. Frank shifted uncomfortably and Dracula cleared his throat.  
  
'Well, in every new dramatisation they bring out, the Phantom is handsomer than he was in the previous version. Just look at how attractive he is in the Lloyd Webber musical. He's put on weight, his disfigurement has shrunk, he's got nicer hair, albeit in wig-form, and the worst thing is that you're starting to resemble him!'  
  
'I am not!'  
  
'Yes you are! You've put on weight, you're more muscular! What happened to the wasted physique of yesteryear?'  
  
Erik folded his arms self-consciously over his abdomen. 'It wouldn't do for us all to be stick insects!'  
  
'And you're copying his hairstyle, and his taste in cloaks, AND you don't have golden eyes anymore because you're wearing mismatched contact lenses, one blue and one brown! Why, you're trying to look softer and less demonic!'  
  
'Rubbish! And I never looked demonic!'  
  
'Yes you did!'  
  
'No I didn't!'  
  
Dracula and Erik were now both standing and glaring at each other across the table. Frank, who was essentially a peace-loving monster, decided it was time to intervene. He took them both by the arms and used his considerable strength to force them back down into their seats.  
  
'Now, now, calm down, boys. We don't want to start a fight in here where all these people can see us, so lets stop behaving like children, shall we?'  
  
Erik glared at them both in turn. 'We are not behaving like children! And anyway, he started it!'  
  
'No, he started it!'  
  
'It doesn't matter who started it!' cried Frank, finally losing his temper. 'We're meant to be having a civilised drink to celebrate Dracula's birthday, not starting World War Three! Please just calm down!'  
  
There was a short silence, in which Erik and Dracula stared at each other with mutual dislike.  
  
'Anyway,' said Dracula, after a moment. 'My lady friend will be along in a minute. Let's ask her how much you've changed.'  
  
Erik stared at him blankly. 'What are you talking about? How would she know?'  
  
'You'll see,' replied the vampire, smiling evilly. He glanced towards the door. 'In fact, here she is now.'  
  
Erik turned to see that a cloaked figure, wearing a hat and heavy veil, was rapidly approaching the table. Dracula rose and went over to greet it. He took its hand.  
  
From his position at the back of the shadowy alcove, Erik watched the couple curiously and somewhat suspiciously. Dracula was now standing directly in front of the figure, blocking Erik's view.  
  
He saw the vampire throw back the lady's veil. He then proceeded to kiss her long and passionately on the lips.  
  
Then he drew away from her and stepped to one side.  
  
And Erik's eyes went wide with recognition.  
  
'My God!' He gasped, staring at her in disbelief. 'Christine!'  
  
Author's Note: Dun Dun DUN! Will Erik survive this sensational revelation? Will Frank go to pieces? Will Dracula FINALLY find time to count his peanuts?  
  
Find out in the next exciting instalment! 


	3. An Unlikely Love Triangle

Author's Note: Thanks again for all your lovely reviews! Regarding Paper Face's questions, there will be more about the movie later. In fact, for reasons which will later become clear, this whole Dracula/Christine episode is directly related to the events surrounding the movie. There will also be an explanation as to why the characters are immortal.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera,' 'Dracula,' or 'Frankenstein.' I also do not pretend to own 'The Wolf Man,' 'The Mummy,' or 'The Creature From the Black Lagoon,' but that's hardly relevant to this story.  
  
On with the story!  
  
'The Price of Fame'  
  
Chapter Three: In Which Erik Finds Himself Trapped in a Love Triangle Which is Unlikely Even by Fanfiction.net's Standards.  
  
There was a long, embarrassed silence. Erik stared at Christine, his eyes wide with disbelief. Here, standing before him in a small wine bar in the West End of London, was the woman to whom he had imparted the full measure of his musical knowledge. The woman whom he had fought for, cried over, and loved with the whole of his considerably large heart, the divine and radiant creature to whom he had given his soul, the -  
  
Christine took a step forward, and slapped him hard across the mask.  
  
Erik lifted a hand to his stinging cheek, staring at her in hurt bewilderment.  
  
Christine glared at him. 'And just what have you got to say for yourself?' She demanded.  
  
Erik was utterly perplexed. Over the past century or so, he had often dreamed of being reunited with his beloved Christine. He had somehow managed to persuade himself that, in the unlikely event that such a meeting did occur, it would be a beautiful, romantic moment involving lots of violins, roses, candles, ice cream, and a rather fetching wedding dress. He certainly hadn't expected a slap across the face.  
  
'Christine, my love, I don't understand,' he heard himself whimper.  
  
Christine gave a bitter little laugh. 'Oh, you don't understand much, do you? Really, Erik, you're so selfish and insensitive it's unbelievable!'  
  
'I don't know what you're talking about!'  
  
'You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, you great stupid ugly Opera Ghost! First you make my life hell by stalking me, then you kidnap me and take my fiancé prisoner, then you threaten to blow up the Opera House, and THEN, after I have thrown myself on your mercy and sworn to become your wife, you suddenly decide you don't want me anymore and send me packing!'  
  
Erik gaped at her. 'It wasn't like that! You wanted to marry Raoul!'  
  
Christine ignored him. She had waited over a century to say these things, and she wasn't going to let the simple truth stop her now.  
  
'Three weeks later, an advertisement appears in 'Le Epoque' - 'Erik is dead,' I hurry back to Paris to bury you in accordance with my promise. Nadir meets me at the railway station, and says he's already buried you, because it was too unpleasant a task for a young woman (God, you've got him well trained!). I leave Paris and try to put the whole nasty business out of my mind, only to discover that, thirty years later, you're alive and well and confiding the most private details of our turbulent relationship to a nosy, ignorant journalist! And you didn't even CALL ME!!'  
  
Erik searched around desperately for a reply.  
  
'I haven't got your number,' he said lamely.  
  
Christine snorted contemptuously.  
  
'Well, no matter. I've found a guy who really knows how to treat a lady,' she said, taking Dracula's hand.  
  
Erik stared at the unlikely couple for a moment. He knew what he was seeing, but he couldn't quite believe it.  
  
'Who? You mean Dracula?'  
  
Christine rolled her eyes.  
  
'No, the Wolf Man! Of course I mean Dracula!'  
  
'You're two-timing Dracula with the Wolf Man?' gasped Frank, who was finding the whole thing both highly intriguing and mind-bogglingly confusing.  
  
Christine glared at him.  
  
'No! Shut up!'  
  
She turned back to face Erik. His eyes were glazed and his lips were moving soundlessly.  
  
Finally he spoke.  
  
'You and Dracula?'  
  
'Oh, for Heaven's sake, Erik! Yes! Me and Dracula!'  
  
'But-but he's a vampire!' Erik spluttered.  
  
'Yes,' said Dracula, sweeping past Christine with an elegant swirl of his trench coat. 'I'm a vampire! A damned good one, at that! And Christine loves me! And I love her! Did I not say I would love again?'  
  
He turned to Frank, who had taken to counting the peanuts in an attempt to save his sanity.  
  
'Did I not say I would love again? Frank?'  
  
Frank looked up from the table. 'What? Oh. Well you didn't say that in the novel, I'm fairly sure of that, but you did say something to that effect in the film starring Gary Oldman.'  
  
Dracula turned back to Erik. 'You see?'  
  
'Yes,' said Erik. 'I understand now. Gary Oldman.'  
  
There was a moment's silence.  
  
Suddenly Erik leapt to his feet and threw himself at Dracula.  
  
'You bastard! You stole my protégé!'  
  
Dracula stepped neatly out of the way before Erik could collide with him. 'Yes! I stole your protégé! Congratulations, old chap! You've finally grasped it!'  
  
'How could you? I thought you were my friend!'  
  
Dracula laughed.  
  
'Erik. Dear, dear Erik. I said you were going soft, but you wouldn't listen, would you? Look. I'm a vampire. Never trust a vampire.'  
  
'But I invited you into my home, remember? I helped you when you hit rock- bottom! You used my washing machine! I even let you borrow my toothbrush! And this is how you repay me! You steal my girlfriend!'  
  
'She's my girlfriend now!' Dracula snarled, bearing his fangs. 'Crawl back into your sewer and seduce some rats!'  
  
There was a shocked silence. A woman sitting at the table opposite choked on her champagne.  
  
Everyone in the bar turned to look at Erik, who had gone crimson beneath his mask. He clenched his fists, and drew himself up to his full height. His eyes glowed red behind his contact lenses.  
  
'That's it!' Erik roared. 'Outside! Now!!'  
  
Dracula grinned. 'My pleasure.'  
  
Erik flung the door open and they both stormed out onto the street.  
  
Christine tried to follow them, but Frank caught her arm.  
  
'I don't think we should get involved, do you?'  
  
Christine glared at him. 'They're fighting over me! I'm already involved!'  
  
She made for the door, but Frank stepped in front of her.  
  
'There's something I've been meaning to ask you.'  
  
Christine sighed impatiently. 'Go on, then. Out with it.'  
  
'What is it with you and guys who sleep in coffins? I mean, that's surely a sign of a troubled mind, isn't it? And going around drinking blood and shattering chandeliers can hardly be considered normal behaviour. So what's the appeal?'  
  
'You think I go looking for men like Erik and Dracula?' Christine asked, staring at him in disbelief.  
  
Frank nodded.  
  
Christine sighed. 'Of course I don't! It's not my fault that Gothic anti- heroes find me irresistible! Now let's go!'  
  
She hurried outside.  
  
Frank paused for a moment, and scanned each dark recess of the bar with his sharp yellow eyes. Throughout the supposedly friendly social meeting with Dracula and Erik, he had had the disconcerting feeling that someone, or something, was watching them. The feeling had disturbed him, but Erik and Dracula were apparently oblivious to this strange, unseen presence. Perhaps this was because Frank, despite his apparent slowness, was actually the most sensitive being out of the three. He had, after all, been created using the body parts of countless corpses, and his maker had chosen these parts with care. Consequently, he had the sharpest pair of eyes, the best pair of ears, and, above all, the most sensitive nervous system any creature could wish for. And every nerve in his body was currently screaming: 'There is someone here!'  
  
He continued to peer into the shadows, but saw nothing. Finally he shrugged, and bounded after Christine.  
  
Frank was right, of course. Throughout the previous scene, someone had been watching the three monsters and the young woman with considerable interest. It had been hiding in the shadows of the opposite alcove, but this was a wholly unnecessary precaution. This 'someone' was completely invisible to both mortal and immortal eyes. It only became visible when it wanted to be seen, which wasn't very often.  
  
For the sake of maintaining suspense, no clue will be given as to the identity of this creature or its motives at this point in the tale. But it can perhaps be revealed that, unlike Erik, it hadn't been in the least bit surprised by Christine's appearance on the scene. It also knew that there were a large number of excited journalists hiding in a van down the street, who were waiting for just the right moment to take a potentially reputation- destroying photograph of Erik hitting Dracula over the head with a dustbin lid.  
  
With an inaudible sigh of resignation, the creature emerged from the shadows. A second or so later, the door was apparently blown open by a strong gust of wind as the strange being stepped out into the night. 


	4. Erik Meets His Match

Author's note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. And no, Erik is not immortal in Leroux's novel, but there will be an explanation as to why my Erik is in the next chapter, I promise.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera,' 'Frankenstein,' or 'Dracula.'  
  
On with the madness!  
  
'The Price of Fame.'  
  
Chapter Four: Erik Meets His Match  
  
Nadir once described Erik as 'the most terrible adversary that you can imagine.'  
  
Unfortunately, he was exaggerating.  
  
Erik was an expert at wielding the Punjab Lasso, but when it came to fighting with his fists he was simply mediocre. He stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by an ever-growing crowd of disbelieving onlookers, trying desperately to dodge Dracula's attacks. The vampire moved so quickly that it was almost impossible for Erik to get a blow in, and inflicting any serious damage was out of the question.  
  
'Come on Erik! Is that the best you can do?' cried a disillusioned Phan in the crowd. 'Punjab him!'  
  
Erik wished that he could Punjab him, but he had not carried a lasso for many years. He considered himself a reformed Phantom, who at least pretended to deplore violence of any kind.  
  
'Don't worry, old chap,' said Dracula, in an infuriatingly sympathetic voice. 'I've got some work-out videos at home. We'll soon get you back in shape.'  
  
Erik lunged at Dracula, who neatly stuck out a foot and tripped him up. He lay on the floor, panting for breath. Dracula towered over him, grinning evilly from ear to ear.  
  
'I recommend that you cut down on the chocolate,' he continued. 'And run two laps round the Opera House each morning.'  
  
Erik let his face drop to the ground, utterly humiliated. He had lost. The Phantom of the Opera had lost the fight.  
  
Everything Dracula said was true.  
  
'Boo!' jeered the Phan. 'I don't believe in anything anymore! I'm converting to 'Les Miserables'!'  
  
Erik struggled to his feet and slowly walked away, the sneers and catcalls ringing in his ears.  
  
And then he saw it.  
  
It was round and rusty, and the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  
  
An idea struck him. He struggled with his conscience for half a second.  
  
'Well, Erik...if you can't fight well, fight dirty...'  
  
He picked up the dustbin lid, and crept up behind Dracula.  
  
Within the next split-second, the following things happened simultaneously. The dustbin lid made contact with the back of Dracula's skull...Christine screamed...the onlookers gasped...and there was a flash, accompanied by a self-satisfied 'click.' Erik looked around stupidly, dustbin lid still in hand, momentarily blinded by the flash. He heard Dracula fall to the ground with a 'thud,' but the sound barely registered.  
  
'Click, click, click.'  
  
Erik stared at the crowd of journalists in disbelief. They had apparently appeared out of nowhere. Their cameras flashed at him horribly.  
  
One of them produced a tape-recorder, and thrust it towards Erik's mouth.  
  
'Er...Mr Phantom...Sir...you have just knocked Count Dracula unconscious. How do you feel?'  
  
Erik stared at him in amazement. 'What the hell is going on?'  
  
'So, why exactly did you want to inflict grievous bodily harm on Dracula?' continued the journalist, pleasantly.  
  
'I'll tell you why!' said a voice from behind them.  
  
Erik turned around to see Christine standing by Dracula's unconscious body.  
  
'He did it because he's violent, unstable, and unbelievably stupid! This is the real Phantom of the Opera! A stalker who won't let me live my life in peace! A second-rate thug!'  
  
'Christine...' Erik whimpered. 'You don't mean that...' He paused, and thought for a moment.  
  
Something was very wrong here. Something didn't quite make sense...  
  
'How did the press know that I was here?'  
  
Christine laughed. 'How do you think? I tipped them off!'  
  
Erik gazed at her in disbelief. 'You set me up? Why?'  
  
'Because I wanted to expose you, to show you as the fraud you really are! All these years, ever since that wretched book was published, everyone has felt sorry for the Phantom...the poor little rejected Phantom! No one ever gives a thought to Christine...no, no, it's just 'Erik this' and 'Erik that.' 'Poor, unhappy Erik!''  
  
'It's not true...' Erik gasped.  
  
Christine ignored him, and continued to rant and rave at the journalists.  
  
'Everywhere I go, I have to wear a veil or a pair of sunglasses, because if I don't his wretched Phans jeer and throw things at me!' She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose loudly. 'I just want to settle down with Drac and have lots of little vampire children. But now that wretched movie's being made, I'm never going to have a moment's respite. The Phantom of the Opera will always be there...inside my mind...and on TV screens...' Christine burst into loud, theatrical tears.  
  
'Awwwww,' said Frank, who was having trouble following the whole thing.  
  
'Awwwww,' agreed the journalists.  
  
'Why didn't I see it before?' cried the angry Phan. 'The Phantom is the evil one!'  
  
'Yes!' screamed someone else. 'Let's get him!'  
  
'Run,' thought Erik, and he set off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.  
  
'Oh, you can run!' screamed Christine. 'But you can't hide! Christine will not be silenced! Christine will shout the truth from the rooftops! Christine will have her revenge!'  
  
Erik didn't doubt her for a second. He knew that anyone who referred to themselves in the third person three times in the same speech was capable of anything.  
  
He rounded a corner at speed, and ran head long into someone's body.  
  
'Oh, excuse me...I...'  
  
He raised his eyes, and saw that he was addressing the empty air.  
  
He looked around. No one.  
  
Puzzled and slightly unnerved, Erik shrugged his shoulders and set off again.  
  
'Good evening, Monsieur Erik. Where are you going so fast?'  
  
Erik froze. The voice was warm, melodious, and strangely familiar.  
  
He slowly turned around, and once again saw no one.  
  
'Who...who's there?'  
  
The voice laughed. 'Oh! Forgive me...I must make myself visible.'  
  
The shadows which surrounded Erik seemed to shimmer, to move and grow, until suddenly he was not looking at shadows at all but the figure of a man.  
  
Erik gasped. The man was clad from head to foot in a long black cloak, his face concealed by a cowl.  
  
Erik took a step backwards, shivering with cold and fear.  
  
'Do not be afraid, Erik; you are in no danger,' said the man, kindly.  
  
'Who are you?'  
  
The man stepped towards him and, without warning, threw back his cowl. A pair of golden eyes, set in an all too familiar face, blazed intensely at Erik.  
  
'Do you recognise me now?' asked the voice, gently. 'I'm the Phantom of the Opera.'  
  
Erik's mouth twitched a few times. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. 


	5. Two Phantoms are Better than One

Author's note: I've finally updated! Sorry I've taken so long! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. It's lovely to see that so many people are enjoying this story!  
  
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Dracula' belongs to Bram Stoker, and 'Frankenstein' belongs to Mary Shelley.  
  
Please review! I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
'The Price of Fame.'  
  
Chapter Five: Two Phantoms are better than one.  
  
Since becoming a celebrity, Erik had managed to keep calm in all sorts of distressing and potentially dangerous situations. For example, there was the time he was almost cuddled to death by a group of adoring female Phans outside Her Majesty's Theatre, not to mention the day his mask was stolen on the London Underground. He rarely became frightened and he kept himself in good health. He had never, in all the years of his long life, fainted.  
  
Consequently, it came as a great shock when, after being unconscious for several hours, Erik awoke to find himself lying on a bed in a darkened room. He felt dazed and weak, and he lifted a hand to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.  
  
The room was cold, and a single candle provided the only illumination. The walls were bare stone. Erik, who was used to living in a cellar, sensed that he must be deep underground. Shivering, he took a deep breath of stale air.  
  
The room smelled strangely familiar, and it only took Erik a moment to realise what this peculiar and unique odour was.  
  
The room smelled of Phantom.  
  
If someone, perhaps a curious Phan, was to put their nose close enough to Erik, they would find that he smelled of cologne, red wine and fabric conditioner. But the air in this room did not smell like Erik. Instead, it was laced with the scent of mildew, lilies and rotting carrion. Erik felt sick. This was exactly what his lair had smelled of, indeed, what Erik himself had smelled of, back in 1881.  
  
And then he remembered that sweet voice, that terrible face, and those blazing, golden eyes.  
  
The same blazing, golden eyes that were coming towards him now...  
  
Erik gave a wordless cry and flattened himself against the wall. Then he heard a 'click,' and the room was suddenly flooded with light.  
  
And there, standing before him, clear as day, was his doppelganger.  
  
He was the same height as Erik, but definitely not the same weight. While Erik's once-skeletal frame had filled out over the decades, this figure was emaciated. He wore a black cloak and dress clothes which hung limply on his thin body. Unlike Erik, he did not wear a wig. His sparse, tangled hair was uncombed and appeared rather greasy. His golden eyes had vanished now that the light had been turned on, leaving two great black holes. His skin was like parchment...yellow, dry and peeling in places.  
  
Erik was repulsed. He realised with horror that this was exactly what he had looked like back in the 19th century, before he had discovered moisturising cream.  
  
The new Phantom stared at the petrified Erik with a serene expression on his skull-like face. Erik watched in fascinated horror as those thin, dry lips curled into a smile, before parting to release that awesome, resonant voice...  
  
'Would you like a donut?' said the new Phantom, thrusting a pack of the sugary treats towards Erik.  
  
This strange combination of the mundane and the monstrous was more than poor Erik could bear.  
  
'Eeek!' he said, hiding his face under the bedclothes.  
  
Phantom Number Two gazed at him in bewilderment. He was slightly upset by Erik's reaction to his offer of food, but he also found this strange, nervous, rather tubby Phantom endearing. The image of him in a fistfight with Count Dracula was one he would cherish for all eternity. He decided to try again.  
  
'Are you sure you don't want a donut?' he asked, pleasantly. 'I've got strawberry flavour...'  
  
With trembling hands, Erik lowered the quilt away from his face.  
  
'Wh...what?'  
  
'I said 'I've got strawberry flavour.' They're very nice. I've got some chocolate brownies, too.'  
  
'No...no, thank you.'  
  
'Pity,' said the Phantom, and he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to eat a donut.  
  
Erik stared at him in horror and wonder. He was still frightened, but he was also becoming rather curious.  
  
'Who is he?' he thought. 'Why does he look like I used to look? Did I really look as bad as that? God, no wonder Christine didn't fancy me. He could really do with a haircut, and maybe a visit to a tailor wouldn't go amiss, either. He certainly seems to be enjoying that donut. Oh, I'm so hungry...'  
  
And Erik reached tentatively for the packet of donuts.  
  
The new Phantom smiled, and licked the sugar from his long fingers.  
  
'Please don't be afraid of me,' he said, after a moment. 'I mean you no harm.'  
  
Erik forced the last of the donut down. He didn't quite believe this last statement. It was difficult to trust a man with empty eye sockets.  
  
'Who...who are you?' he stammered.  
  
The new Phantom drew himself up to his full height, and spread out his arms in a theatrical gesture.  
  
'I am not an angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost...I am Erik!'  
  
And he gave a dramatic and completely unnecessary swirl of his cape.  
  
Erik stared at him blankly.  
  
'But...you can't be! I'm Erik!'  
  
'I know that!'  
  
'So you're saying that we're both Erik?'  
  
'That's right! You've got it!'  
  
'But...surely there can only be one of me?'  
  
The new Phantom seemed to consider this.  
  
'Yes...and no.'  
  
Erik was beginning to tire of this cryptic conversation. 'Let me get this straight...you say there's two of me, but at the same time only one?'  
  
'Yes. Confusing, isn't it?'  
  
Erik finally lost his temper.  
  
'Damn right it's confusing! I'm not even sure I know who I am anymore!'  
  
'Please don't be angry with Erik,' said the new Phantom. 'He only wants to talk to you...'  
  
'Don't be angry? Don't be angry?! Why the hell shouldn't I be angry? You deliberately frighten me, you kidnap me, and then you ask me not to be angry with you! Who the hell do you think you are?'  
  
The new Phantom smiled delightedly.  
  
'I am Erik!' he said, and burst into fits of maniacal laughter.  
  
Erik put his head in his hands.  
  
'I think I'm getting a migraine,' he said.  
  
The new Phantom managed to recover himself, and smiled at Erik sympathetically. It had been rather amusing watching his growing confusion and irritation, but he knew it was time he explained himself.  
  
'Look...' he said, gently. 'I'm sorry I frightened you, but if you'll just be patient, I'll try to explain.'  
  
'All right. But please hurry up. I think my head's going to explode.'  
  
There was a moment of silence, as the new Phantom gathered his thoughts together. Finally he spoke.  
  
'Well, to put it simply, I'm you as you were back in 1881. As you can see, I look like you did back then. I am your past-self, immortalised within the pages of Leroux's novel. I am the reason you are immortal. If you had not confided your secrets to Gaston Leroux, if the novel had never been written, you would have died long ago.'  
  
Erik replayed this back through his mind. It didn't make any more sense the second time round. There were several points he needed the other Phantom to clarify, so he asked the question which was the most troubling to him first.  
  
'You say I would have died if the novel had never been written. If that's the case, how come I didn't die of a broken heart back in 1881? The novel didn't exist back then! I was determined that my life should end, but it flatly refused. How do you explain that?'  
  
The new Phantom thought for a moment.  
  
'Well, the way I see it, you must have always been destined to live on. Perhaps a part of you was determined to survive, because it secretly knew things would get better. And they have! Look at you! You're a celebrity!'  
  
Erik groaned inwardly. Why did people always have to assume that being famous was a laugh a minute?  
  
'Being a celebrity isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know. For a start, you have to please the Phans. The Phans are very fussy. You wouldn't believe some of the things they take offence at. A few years ago, for example, I went on holiday to Spain. I hired a tiny house, with just enough room for one, and my own private beach. I went out sunbathing everyday. It was bliss. And then a journalist found out where I was staying. He hid behind a tree while I was lying half-naked on the beach, took out a camera, and 'click.' The photo was published in the tabloids. The next thing I know I'm bombarded with letters, asking: 'Why have you ruined your lovely skeletal body by developing muscles? The Phantom of the Opera shouldn't have muscles! He's meant to be emaciated!' It was discussed on message boards for weeks. Someone even launched a campaign against my muscles. It was awful! I haven't been to the gym since! And as for the time I went out without my fedora on...'  
  
Erik broke off when he realised that his double was starting to look bored.  
  
'Oh, I'm sorry. I'm rambling. Please, let's get back to the matter in hand. So you're my past-self. All right, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on that. But why are you here in the real world? Shouldn't you be confined to the pages of the novel, or something?'  
  
The Phantom nodded. 'Normally I am, yes. But sometimes I'm permitted to enter the real world, usually when I've sensed that my story is under threat. I have, in fact, come here to warn you of your impending doom.'  
  
Erik groaned again.  
  
'Impending doom? What else could possibly go wrong today? Christine hates me, Dracula's probably in intensive care, tomorrow there's going to be a photo of me in every newspaper known to man, and I've lost a Phan to 'Les Miserables'! And now you're announcing my impending doom!'  
  
The Past Phantom nodded gravely.  
  
'Allow me to explain,' he said. 'You're in great danger. Christine and Dracula are conspiring against you. You know they set you up at The Black Rose. I saw everything. I sensed that it was going to happen.'  
  
'Then why didn't you warn me? Why did you just stand by and let me make an idiot of myself?'  
  
'Because I would have had to appear where Christine and Dracula could see me, and I don't want them to know about me. And anyway...' the Phantom chuckled '...I thought it would be funny to watch.'  
  
Despite his anger, Erik managed to keep his voice even.  
  
'Why are they conspiring against me?'  
  
'They want to ruin your reputation. They have their reasons for this. Christine resents you because of the sympathy you get from the Phans, and Dracula is jealous of you.'  
  
Erik fought an urge to laugh. 'Dracula? Jealous of me?'  
  
'Yes. You see, Dracula is worried that the new Phantom movie will be a great success. This would be a huge blow to his movie production company, which has just got re-established after the Great Castle Rent Affair. He can't afford any competition from other Gothic monsters, and you're too much of a threat. In order to insure that the movie is unsuccessful and, much worse, to make your story fade into obscurity, he wants to ruin your reputation.'  
  
'But...the Phans...he can't say a word against me as far as my Phans are concerned, surely?'  
  
'You just said yourself how easily they take offence. And, in any case, the Phans are a minority. As far as the general public is concerned, a few more incidents like the one this evening would be enough to persuade them to steer clear of 'The Phantom of the Opera' for life. After all, would you take your children to see a film about a man who goes around assaulting unsuspecting vampires? And, if that doesn't work, I know Christine has a lot of dirt on you.'  
  
Erik went red. 'Of course she doesn't!'  
  
'I hear that she's writing her autobiography: 'Christine: The True Story of an Abused Soprano.' That might be enough to turn the Phans against you. Against both of us.'  
  
Erik shook his head in disbelief.  
  
'No, she wouldn't...not Christine...'  
  
'She would. You've already seen what she's capable of.'  
  
'What am I going to do?' Erik stammered, a feeling of sickening dread beginning to close around his heart.  
  
'Be on your guard at all times. I've a feeling that they won't do anything else to you for a few weeks. They'll want to lull you into a false sense of security before they strike again. They'll stop at nothing to ruin us, but we can't let their plan succeed. If it does, no one will ever read our novel again! You'll become one of those washed-up celebrities, who, in ten years time, no one will have heard of! Can you imagine a world where no one has heard of 'The Phantom of the Opera?'  
  
Erik thought about this. It actually sounded quite attractive. After all, there would be no more Phans, no crazy journalists chasing him, no more boring premieres and charity balls to attend. He would be able to stay in his cosy lair under the Opera House. It would be like it was in the 1880's, quiet and peaceful and...almost unbearably lonely.  
  
No more Phanmail. No beautiful women drooling over him...  
  
...and only Nadir for company!  
  
Erik looked up at the other Phantom with large, frightened eyes.  
  
'Yes...' he stammered. 'I can imagine a world where no one's heard of me, and it looks horrific. I'll do anything you say.'  
  
The Past Phantom smiled.  
  
'Just keep a low profile for the time being,' he said. 'Go back to the Opera House. I'm going to find Christine and Dracula, and follow their every move. As soon as I find out what their plans are, I'll report back to you. Now let's get you back to the world above...'  
  
Something suddenly occurred to Erik.  
  
'Where are we?' he asked.  
  
'In my makeshift lair, deep beneath Her Majesty's Theatre,' said the Phantom, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  
  
Erik stared at him in horror.  
  
'You must be mad! The Phans will mob us as soon as we get into the theatre!'  
  
'They wouldn't mob me. I can make myself invisible simply by wrapping my cloak around myself. That's one of the advantages of being a fictional character who doesn't belong in the real world. I can simply disappear into the background, if I want to.'  
  
'It's alright for you, but what about me?'  
  
'Don't worry. The performance ended hours ago, and anyway, there's a secret passage which leads to part of the Underground system, so we can avoid the theatre. Follow me.'  
  
The Phantom led Erik through a hidden door and down a secret passage, which eventually led to an Underground station not far from The Black Rose. The two Phantoms made there way up into the street, Erik looking cautiously around for journalists all the while.  
  
'I must leave you now,' said the Past Phantom. 'Leave for Paris as soon as you can. I'll come and see you when I find out what Dracula and Christine plan to do next.'  
  
Erik shuddered. He realised that he didn't want his past–self to leave him.  
  
'What should I do if I need you? What if the journalists come after me again?'  
  
'Just call for me. I'll hear you wherever I happen to be.'  
  
'But what should I call you? I can't call you Erik, surely? That would be far too confusing.'  
  
'Hmmm...you have a point there. I know, call me...Angel.'  
  
Erik grimaced.  
  
'Alright,' he said. 'Angel.'  
  
Angel smiled at him. Then he threw up his cowl, wrapped his cloak around himself, and vanished.  
  
Erik was left standing in the middle of the deserted street. He felt more alone and frightened than he ever had in his life.  
  
A huge shadow loomed over him, engulfing him in its blackness.  
  
'Erik!'  
  
Erik gave a start, and spun around.  
  
Then he heaved a sigh of relief.  
  
'Frank.'  
  
Frank looked down at him in concern.  
  
'Erik...I've been looking everywhere for you! Christine and Dracula have disappeared. Are you all right?'  
  
Erik trembled.  
  
'I'm...I'm not sure...Oh, Frank...'  
  
The events of the evening had finally taken their toll. Erik's bottom lip trembled, and he burst into tears.  
  
Frank was baffled. He had never seen Erik cry before.  
  
'Oh...hush...please don't cry. I know...why don't we go into that Indian over there and have a curry, and you can tell me what's happened.'  
  
'Erik doesn't want a curry!' sobbed Erik. 'Erik wants Nadir!'  
  
'OK. We'll call Nadir. Please don't be upset. Would you like a hug?'  
  
Erik sniffed and nodded, and Frank hugged him clumsily. He stopped when he realised Erik was having trouble breathing.  
  
'Better now?' he asked.  
  
'A little,' Erik whimpered. 'Thanks, Frank.'  
  
Frank smiled.  
  
'Let's go and have a curry,' he said. 'Then we'll call Nadir.'  
  
So Erik and Frank went into the restaurant.  
  
Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the journalist emerge from the shadows behind them. He smiled happily, imagining his latest photograph dominating tomorrow's celebrity gossip pages. 


	6. The Consequences

Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! In response to Erika's question, my pen name's 'Opera Cloak' because I always associate cloaks with Phantom.  
  
The Eurovision Song Contest was on last night. All hail Eurovision!!  
  
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley, and 'Dracula' to Bram Stoker. 'Charles Bloom' is named after 'Cholly Bloom' in 'The Phantom of Manhattan,' which belongs to Frederick Forsyth.  
  
I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
'The Price of Fame.'  
  
Chapter Six: The Consequences of Hugging Frankenstein's Monster.  
  
Erik was sitting by the fire, pouring over the articles in the tabloid press and trying his hardest to make sense of the events of the previous night.  
  
He picked up another newspaper at random, flicked through it, and found the inevitable article on page five. The headline seemed to glare at him accusingly.  
  
**Phantom and Dracula in Bin-lid Bust-up!**  
  
**The Phantom of the Opera, or 'Erik' as he is known to his army of fans, brutally assaulted Count Dracula with a dustbin lid outside The Black Rose wine bar in London's West End last night.**  
  
**The two famous literary figures had been celebrating Dracula's birthday in the company of Frankenstein's Monster when a fight broke out. According to witnesses, Dracula had the upper hand in the fight until the Phantom knocked him unconscious with the bin lid.  
  
'What the hell is going on?' exclaimed the portly musical misfit, when I asked him how he felt. He refused to give a reason for his appalling behaviour, and showed no remorse for the damage he had caused.**  
  
**The fight was witnessed by the Phantom's former flame, Christine Daae, who informed everyone present that he had continued to stalk her and had attacked Dracula, her new lover, out of jealousy.  
  
'This is the real Phantom of the Opera!' she declared. 'A stalker who won't let me live my life in peace! A second rate thug!'  
  
The Phantom managed to escape the angry crowd of spectators, and disappeared from sight.  
  
Dracula was taken to a nearby hospital, and he is expected to make a full recovery.  
  
Several of Erik's diehard 'Phans' witnessed the fight, and they all seemed equally bewildered by the experience.**  
  
**'That's not the Erik I know and love,' said one girl, who was close to tears. 'I mean, I know he strangles people from time to time, but he's never assaulted anyone with a dustbin lid before.'  
  
It was also apparent that the Phans were disappointed by Erik's physical state.  
  
'He has really let himself go,' said one. 'He used to be so strong and athletic. Now he's so unfit that he has to use a dustbin lid to win his fights. He should be ashamed of himself.'  
  
Erik will need to get back in shape and change his attitudes if the respect of his Phans and the general public is to be maintained until the much- anticipated movie version of his musical opens next year.**  
  
Erik continued to stare at the article in disgust. It was accompanied by a very large and unflattering photograph of him holding the dustbin lid and looking completely bewildered by the situation.  
  
'Croissant?' said Nadir, entering with a tray of breakfast things which he placed on the coffee table.  
  
Erik laid the newspaper to one side.  
  
'No thanks. I'm on a diet.'  
  
Nadir looked at Erik in concern. He was sitting hunched up in the armchair, glaring at the newspapers which were strewn across the floor. He had hardly spoken since he had arrived home in the early hours of the morning, and Nadir was becoming very worried indeed. Erik was already deeply depressed by the whole sorry state of affairs, and he hadn't even seen the article in 'The Trivia' yet.  
  
Nadir was tempted not to show Erik the latest edition to the fascinating world of celebrity gossip, but he knew that this would only prolong his suffering. His hand strayed to the rolled-up newspaper in his back pocket.  
  
'How about some whiskey?' he said, making a dive for the drinks cabinet.  
  
Erik looked up at Nadir in irritation.  
  
'No, thank you. I don't think drinking myself into a stupor will solve anything, as attractive as it sounds.'  
  
'Are you sure? I think you're going to need it.'  
  
Erik stared at Nadir questioningly.  
  
'Why am I going to need it?'  
  
Nadir shifted uncomfortably, and looked away.  
  
'Nadir, you're keeping something from me. I know what it means when you get that shifty look on your face.'  
  
Nadir sat down opposite his friend.  
  
'You're really not going to like this,' he said.  
  
Erik sighed deeply, and rolled his eyes.  
  
'Yes, Daroga, I guessed as much. Now, for God's sake, tell me! You're making me nervous!'  
  
Without a word, Nadir removed the newspaper from his pocket. Erik's heart sank when he realised it was 'The Trivia': the paper responsible for the half-naked beach pictures which had given him so much trouble.  
  
Nadir handed Erik the paper.  
  
'Page twelve,' he said, his voice shaking.  
  
Erik unrolled the paper with trembling hands and turned to page twelve.  
  
His eyes widened. His mouth fell open in disbelief.  
  
'Oh, no,' he moaned. 'This can't be happening...'  
  
The article featured a large photograph of Erik and Frank locked in an embrace. Erik was being crushed to Frank's chest, and Frank was smiling warmly.  
  
**Monstrous Lovers!** screamed the headline.  
  
And then the newspaper went on to reveal the intriguing story behind this truly amazing photograph.  
  
**The Phantom of the Opera and Frankenstein's Monster were spotted embracing passionately in the street last night, not far from the location of the infamous bin lid fight (see pages three to eleven). The Phantom, or 'Erik,' seemed quite happy nestled in the arms of 'Frank,' who, if the reader would use their imagination just a little, is wearing an expression of ecstasy and deep arousal.**  
  
**This private moment between these two Gothic Greats will no doubt provoke outrage amongst Erik's legions of female Phans, to whom any suggestion that Erik might be gay is nothing short of blasphemous. Of course, it is not for this paper to resort to crude stereotypes in an effort to confirm Erik's sexuality, so let's just say he is fond of art and has occasionally been seen wearing sparkly things.**  
  
Erik threw the newspaper onto the floor and solemnly closed his eyes.  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
'I'm sorry, Erik,' said Nadir.  
  
Erik stood up and turned away from his friend in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. He was angry...angry with Dracula and Christine, angry with the press, and, most of all, angry with himself for letting his dignity slip in such a careless fashion.  
  
'No, I'm sorry, Nadir...' he said finally. 'I shouldn't have...I mean...he...it meant nothing.'  
  
Nadir looked at him strangely.  
  
'I know that. I'm not stupid.'  
  
Erik sank down into his chair and put his head in his hands in despair.  
  
'Oh, Nadir...what am I going to do?'  
  
'Well, if I were you I would ignore it. It's just the malicious gossiping of the tabloid press. No one will take any notice.'  
  
'My Phans will! They're terribly sensitive! Remember all the fuss about the beach pictures? And...' Erik blushed '...the official sequel?'  
  
'Oh, yes!' Nadir chuckled. 'That was hilarious!'  
  
Erik glared at him.  
  
'It's all right for you! You weren't in it! That man had me wearing a clown costume and gutting fish! I've never gutted fish in my life! I wouldn't dream of sinking so low! Sequel, indeed! The Phans tore it to pieces! If that's their reaction to a few insulting biographical inaccuracies, I don't want to know how they'll react to that wretched photograph! They'll ALL convert to 'Les Miserables'! And as for poor old Frank...'  
  
Suddenly, Erik was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a mobile phone ringing to the tune of 'Old MacDonald had a Farm.'  
  
'Excuse me a moment,' said Nadir, reaching into his pocket.  
  
Erik sat back in his chair and waited. As far as he could tell, Nadir had no social life whatsoever, so this could only be a business call.  
  
'Hello, Nadir Khan speaking. Can I help you?'  
  
A pause.  
  
'Yes, I'm his manager. What can I do for you?'  
  
Another pause. Nadir's face contorted into an expression of extreme disgust.  
  
'No, he is NOT interested in appearing on the Jerry Springer Show with Christine and Count Dracula! That is quite impossible! Good day to you!'  
  
Nadir ended the call and rolled his eyes.  
  
'When will these people learn? Now, what were you saying?'  
  
The air was once again torn apart by a mobile phone ringtone. This time it was Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.  
  
Erik fished inside his own pocket and stared at the object which was vibrating in a distinctly ominous fashion.  
  
'You answer it,' he said, thrusting it into Nadir's hand.  
  
Nadir lifted the phone to his ear.  
  
'Hello? Oh, hello Frank.'  
  
Erik went white. He waved his arms around frantically and mouthed the words 'I'm not here!'  
  
'I'm sorry, Frank. I think he's busy.'  
  
There was a pause.  
  
'All right...just one moment.'  
  
Nadir covered the mobile with his palm and looked at Erik sternly.  
  
'Please talk to him. He is your friend, and he sounds upset.'  
  
Erik glared at Nadir and took the mobile phone grudgingly.  
  
'Hello Frank,' he said.  
  
'Hello Erik,' said Frank. He sounded tearful and breathless, and there seemed to be a strong wind blowing in the background.  
  
'Are you all right?' Erik asked.  
  
'Yes. I just wanted to apologise for last night. I didn't think...'  
  
'That's all right. You did nothing wrong. Thank you for being there for me.'  
  
'Thanks, Erik...I...'  
  
'Hey, Frankie! How about letting me talk to your sweetheart for a bit?' said a faint but enthusiastic voice in the background.  
  
'Leave me alone!' said Frank.  
  
'Pardon?' said Erik.  
  
'I'm sorry. It's the journalist. He's been following me all morning.'  
  
'Where are you?'  
  
'I'm in the Scottish Highlands, on the peak of a rather tall mountain. He followed me up here. I can't get rid of him. What should I do?'  
  
'You can throw him off a ridge for all I care!' said Erik, with an aggression which surprised him.  
  
'I can't do that! Think of his family!'  
  
'Well, then...frighten him. Roar at him'  
  
'That still seems a bit harsh. I had Chicken Tikka Masala last night.'  
  
Erik sighed.  
  
'All right, let me talk to him.'  
  
'OK, hang on.'  
  
There was a pause, and then the enthusiastic voice was on the line.  
  
'Hello, Mr Phantom, sir! What have you got to say about your encounter with Mr Frankenstein?'  
  
Erik took a deep, calming breath.  
  
'Well, for a start his name is Mr Frankenstein's Monster. And our 'encounter' was actually fairly uninteresting, with no sexual connotations whatsoever. I'm sorry to disappoint you.'  
  
The journalist was taken aback.  
  
'Oh. Er...well...'  
  
An idea suddenly occurred to Erik. Christine and Dracula were using the media against him. Well, he would beat them at their own game! He was sure there were lots of embarrassing pictures just waiting to be taken of their sordid love affair! All he needed was one journalist on his side...  
  
'Look,' he said. 'I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. It must be very hard being a journalist.'  
  
'Yes, sir. That's true.' The voice sounded slightly uncertain.  
  
'Knowing that you'll lose the respect of your colleagues if you don't get a story concerning a celebrity in an embarrassing situation...'  
  
'It's terrible. You have no idea.'  
  
'You sound very young.'  
  
'I'm twenty-five. New to the profession.'  
  
'Is that so? And what's your name, my dear young fellow?'  
  
'Charles Bloom.'  
  
'Well, Mr Bloom. You sound like an enthusiastic, hardworking young gentleman. I tell you what...if you leave Mr Frankenstein's Monster alone and come to Paris, I might just grant you an interview. I've got some amusing little anecdotes about Mlle. Daae and Count Dracula which I'm sure you'll find most intriguing.'  
  
And Erik winked at Nadir.  
  
'Thank you, Mr Phantom! I'll be there tomorrow!' said the voice, delightedly.  
  
'Good. I'll look forward to meeting you. Goodbye, Mr Bloom.'  
  
Erik ended the call and grinned at Nadir. Nadir stared at him contemptuously.  
  
'It won't work, Erik. Journalists are nothing but trouble. You shouldn't have invited him over here. It'll just turn into a battle between you and Christine.'  
  
'Oh, lighten up, Nadir! It'll be a great way of setting the record straight with my Phans and getting some well-deserved revenge!'  
  
Nadir threw up his hands in despair.  
  
'All right. But if there's any trouble, you're on your own. I'll have nothing to do with it.'  
  
'That's fine by me. Now, let's have some whiskey. I'm sure a little alcohol will help fuel my imagination while I think up these 'amusing anecdotes'!'  
  
A loud ringing sound once again filled the lair. This time it was the doorbell.  
  
Erik froze. He turned to look at Nadir with an agonised expression on his face.  
  
'My God...Nadir! What if it's more journalists? Or an angry mob of Phantom Phans?'  
  
Nadir shuddered at the thought. Happy Phantom Phans were scary enough, so the prospect of angry ones was quite terrifying.  
  
'I'll answer it,' he said. 'You stay here.'  
  
'Be careful, Nadir!'  
  
Nadir advanced cautiously towards the door. This was worse than the Eurovision Song Contest.  
  
Back in the drawing room, Erik sat hunched in his armchair. He heard Nadir slide the bolts back and open the door.  
  
'Hello!' said a cheerful voice. 'Is Erik in? I've brought doughnuts!'  
  
Erik ran into the hall just in time to see Nadir faint.  
  
Angel looked down at Nadir and shook his head sadly.  
  
'Why do they always do that?'  
  
Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please review! 


	7. Angel in the House

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! Oh, and I'm glad so many of you liked the 'I'm on a diet' part. I was going to leave that part out!  
  
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Dracula' to Bram Stoker and 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
'The Price of Fame'  
  
Chapter Seven: Angel in the House  
  
After five minutes in the company of Angel, Erik was starting to realise just how much he had changed since 1881. Years of patient yet intense therapy at the hands of Nadir had rendered him capable of a) keeping still for more than three seconds; b) communicating without repeatedly referring to himself in the third person and c) resisting his instinctive urge to laugh maniacally at inappropriate moments.  
  
His past-self, however, was not capable of any of this. Erik watched from the safety of his armchair as the excited little Phantom bounced around the living room, examining each wonder of the modern world with childlike curiosity. His momentary distress at causing Nadir to faint had vanished, and he was now exhibiting the boundless enthusiasm of the Phantom of the Opera on a Good Day.  
  
'You've redecorated!' he said, breathless with excitement. 'That black theme I had in here was so dull! I love the new colour scheme! Cream and red...gorgeous! And the room doesn't smell of mildew! But there should be some fresh flowers...Erik likes flowers! Arrrggghhh...a mirror! Get rid of it at once! Fantastic TV set...we can watch classic horror movies and eat doughnuts! It'll be great fun and....Ohhhh! What's that?!'  
  
Angel had spotted the karaoke machine.  
  
Erik's eyes widened. Something told him that Angel and the karaoke machine would not get on very well together.  
  
'It's nothing,' he said hurriedly. 'It's just a machine that mortals use for making really bad music, usually at parties when everyone's very drunk.'  
  
'It sounds fun!' said Angel, making a dive for the microphone. 'Oh, I know how it works! You put one of these nice shiny discs in that hole, and sing along into this thing, right?  
  
'Yes, but...'  
  
'Can I have a go?'  
  
'I really don't think it's a very good idea...'  
  
But it was too late. Angel had inserted a CD, and was staring at the little television screen with a maniacal grin on his face.  
  
The music began. Unfortunately, the song was a little too appropriate for the enthusiastic vocalist.  
  
'Beneath the Opera House, I know he's there. He's with me on the stage, he's everywhere...'  
  
Erik covered his face in agonised embarrassment. Of course, it would have to be the Steve Harley version...  
  
He risked glancing up at Angel, and shuddered. Angel was an amazing singer, it was just the sound of Sarah Brightman's voice emerging from the Phantom's mouth that was disturbing.  
  
Angel, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely.  
  
'And when my song begins, I always find...The Phaaaaaantom of the Opera is there...inside my mind. Come on Erik, sing along!'  
  
Erik couldn't stand it anymore. With an aggression which he usually reserved for encounters with particularly troublesome viscounts, he flung himself at Angel and snatched the microphone from his skeletal hands. Then he unplugged the machine.  
  
Angel gave a cry of anguish.  
  
'Awww! You horrible boring old Phantom! I was enjoying that!'  
  
Erik put his hands on his hips and glared at Angel.  
  
'I don't care!' he growled. 'I'm tired of you running around my lair as though you own the place!'  
  
'But I do own the place!'  
  
Erik ignored him.  
  
'You've only been here ten minutes, and the place is in an uproar! First you cause poor Nadir to faint, then you add to the chaos by singing that embarrassing version of my theme song! Why do you have to be so annoying? Why can't you just sit on the sofa and drink tea and converse like a normal person?'  
  
Angel shrank away from Erik's rage in alarm.  
  
'I'm sorry. I'm the Phantom of the Opera. I can't help how I behave...'  
  
Erik turned his back on Angel, shaking his head in despair.  
  
'No wonder Christine couldn't stand me,' he said aloud. 'I spend ten minutes in the company of my past-self, and I feel like strangling him! How on earth did she put up with me for so long?'  
  
He was answered by a little sniffing, whimpering noise from the direction of Angel. Erik turned to see the other Phantom crouching on the floor, crying softly. Erik's shoulders sagged, and he felt a twinge of guilt.  
  
'Ahhh,' he thought. 'This is how she put up with me. Tears.'  
  
Erik realised he had been cruel for no reason. He could remember a time when people had treated him in the same way, simply because he was ugly and a handful. It had hurt, especially when all he had ever wanted was to be loved.  
  
He knelt down beside Angel and patted his hand.  
  
'It's all right. I'm sorry. Please don't cry.'  
  
Angel gave a choked sob.  
  
'I only wanted to be friendly. I thought I was being, you know, amusing and sociable.'  
  
'I know. I'm sorry. Look...you can play on the karaoke machine as much as you like later.'  
  
Angel's eyes lit up. Erik, looking straight at him, was almost dazzled by the golden light.  
  
'Really? Can I do my Celine Dion impersonation?'  
  
Erik shuddered.  
  
'I'll think about it. But first I'd like you to tell me why you're here.'  
  
Angel's eyes seemed to shoot flames.  
  
'Oh, yes! I'm sorry...I got distracted. I'm here because I want to show you something.'  
  
Erik watched nervously as Angel reached inside his cloak and produced a large, rectangular object. Erik took it with shaking hands, and stared down at it.  
  
It was a book. There was a beautiful black and white picture of Christine on the cover. Her face was sad and she held a rose in her hand. Above the picture, rendered in fancy gold lettering, was the title of this fascinating and not at all trashy volume.  
  
Christine: The True Story of an Abused Soprano.  
  
Erik's heart skipped a beat. He turned the book over cautiously, as though it might explode, and read the blurb on the back.  
  
So, you think you know the truth about the Phantom of the Opera?  
  
In this stunning autobiography, Christine Daae reveals the true story of her affair with the mysterious Phantom. Venture into the dark and erotic depths of the Opera! Gasp as Christine reveals the Phantom's secrets, including his passionate affair with Madame Giry! Marvel at the contents of Erik's underwear drawer!  
  
One by one your illusions will be shattered...  
  
Erik swallowed hard. He opened the book and gazed down at the first page. It gave an alarming taste of what was to come.  
  
I am Christine Daae, and I would like to take this opportunity to inform the reader about how my life was blighted by my cruel exploitation at the hands of the Phantom of the Opera.  
  
As Phantom 'Phans' will be aware, many adaptations of the Phantom's story portray him as a tragic figure, corrupted by society's prejudice, who just wants to be loved for himself. These adaptations are wrong.  
  
Erik is a selfish, spiteful, arrogant individual with a terrible taste in clothes (particularly waistcoats), an unhealthy fascination with rats, and a boring stamp collection. If I displeased him, he would torture me by showing me his stamp collection. This was just one of many traumatic experiences which I suffered while under his power.  
  
Erik had read enough. He snapped the book shut and threw it on the floor.  
  
'How could she do this to me? I never had a stamp collection! How could she spread such malicious rumours? What have I ever done to her?'  
  
Angel seemed to consider this.  
  
'Well, apart from kidnapping her on two occasions and threatening to kill her fiancé and many other members of the human race if she refused to marry you, absolutely nothing.'  
  
Erik was trembling with rage.  
  
'I don't deserve this! I'm not evil and I don't collect stamps! How dare she say I collect stamps! And what's wrong with my waistcoats?'  
  
Angel looked down at Erik's waistcoat and smiled.  
  
'Well, that one's got little red roses and masks on it. I'm sure the others are also very interesting.'  
  
Erik blushed. He did in fact have a variety of interesting waistcoats. Nadir had given him the most embarrassing ones for Christmas. They were currently hidden away in a large box at the bottom of his wardrobe. The stamp collection was in there too, along with several other treasures which he hoped Christine had not discovered. He shuddered, and took a deep breath.  
  
'When does this book go on sale?' he enquired.  
  
'Next week,' said Angel. 'Apparently the publishers are expecting it to do very well, what with the new Phantom movie being announced.' 'Not to mention today's newspaper articles,' said Erik, shivering. He knew that he could wave goodbye to both his privacy and his dignity as soon as this delightful new book was released. But now something else was troubling him...  
  
'Where did you get this book?' he asked, suspiciously. 'Surely you didn't go to the publishers...'  
  
Angel blushed. He knew Erik would not like his explanation. Nor would he like the other fascinating object which was hidden in the depths of his cloak. Angel had, in fact, been a very naughty little Phantom indeed. He shuffled his feet nervously.  
  
'Well...the thing is...I went to the hospital where they took Dracula last night. Christine was sitting in the waiting room. She was reading a magazine and I was invisible, so of course she didn't know I was there. Her handbag was on the seat next to her and...well, I sort of...stole it.'  
  
Erik leapt to his feet. His cheeks were burning.  
  
'You WHAT?!'  
  
'I...I just thought it might be helpful. You know, give us some clues as to what her plan is...'  
  
'You want me to look inside it?' Erik gasped. 'Are you insane? That's a violation of her privacy!'  
  
'Good,' said Angel. 'Then she'll know how you feel.'  
  
Erik was silent for a moment. He knew Angel was right. Surely looking through someone's handbag was no worse than spreading rumours about a person's private life? And, to his great shame, he was also starting to feel slightly curious. What did Christine keep in her handbag?  
  
'Well, maybe just a quick look wouldn't do any harm...' he said. 'But then you have to hand it in at the hospital's reception. Understand?'  
  
Angel nodded glumly. He had been getting rather attached to the handbag.  
  
'Well, can I see it?' asked Erik.  
  
Angel reached inside his cloak again and produced a stylish black handbag.  
  
'I only took the book out of it,' he said, handing it to Erik. 'I didn't look at anything else.'  
  
Erik opened the bag and reached inside. There was a little velvet purse containing money, a comb, some makeup, a pair of sunglasses, and a white handkerchief. There was also a copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula': evidently Christine was reading up on the new love of her life. At the bottom of the handbag there were several folded pieces of expensive note paper. Erik unfolded them to find they were sickeningly romantic love letters from Dracula, which he scanned through and then tossed to one side in embarrassment. There was also an envelope, with a handwritten address on the front:  
  
Mlle. Christine Daae Castle Dracula The Carpathian Mountains Transylvania  
  
The envelope had already been opened. Erik reached inside and unfolded the letter. To his astonishment, the de Chagny coat of arms was printed at the top. The letter was from Raoul. Erik stared at the coat of arms with feelings of both irritation and shock. Why on Earth was Raoul writing to Christine now that she was with Dracula?  
  
Well, there was only one way to find out. Erik took a deep breath and began to read the letter.  
  
My dear Christine,  
  
It is lovely to hear from you after all these years! I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed you. When we parted all those years ago in Birmingham, I thought I would never hear from you again. And now here I am writing this letter!  
  
I understand why you had to leave, Christine, and I'm not angry with you. How could we go on as normal while the whole world was obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera? We both needed to escape from the past, and to do that we had to go our separate ways. But sometimes I wonder: will the Phantom always haunt us?  
  
I do hope you and Dracula are happy, and that the new castle is to your liking. I heard somewhere that the old one got turned into a theme park. Is that true? If so, what is the world coming to?  
  
Anyway, to get to the point, I would be delighted to star in Dracula's new movie. I have been trying to launch my film career for sometime now, but with limited success. But you are being very secretive about the project, Christine! You say it's a Gothic romance with lots of action and vampires...it sounds most intriguing. And I'm so pleased I'll be playing the bad guy! I've always wanted to play the bad guy. I'm sick of being cast as the pretty boy with no brains!  
  
I've already started practising my maniacal laugh and it's coming along nicely.  
  
I will arrive in Transylvania two weeks on Friday, as instructed, to start shooting. I look forward to seeing you again.  
  
Best wishes,  
  
Raoul  
  
'What does it say?' said Angel, as Erik finished reading the letter.  
  
'It's from Raoul,' Erik replied. 'Apparently Christine and Dracula are making a new vampire movie and they want him to star in it. But it doesn't say what the movie is.'  
  
Angel took the letter and read it carefully.  
  
'Where's Birmingham?' he asked.  
  
'Oh, it's just a city in England,' said Erik.  
  
'What were they doing there?'  
  
'How should I know?' Erik replied, a little more harshly than he had intended. More important questions were occupying his mind. What was this new movie? And why on Earth did Dracula want Raoul to play the bad guy? It was like asking a little fluffy kitten to play a ferocious tiger! Still, Dracula was a pretty good filmmaker, so he must have some reason to justify such a strange choice...  
  
Erik's troubled thoughts were interrupted by a loud groan from the direction of the sofa.  
  
'No,' said a sleepy voice. 'Put it down. Erik, put the lasso down. You promised me no more murders!'  
  
Angel glanced over at Nadir who was sprawled inelegantly on the sofa.  
  
'Awww!' he said. 'How sweet! Your daroga's having a dream!'  
  
Erik stood up and went to lean over Nadir.  
  
'Nadir? Are you all right? Wake up!'  
  
Nadir groaned again.  
  
'No! Not the scorpion. Don't touch the scorpion!'  
  
'I'll handle this,' said Angel, putting his mouth to Nadir's ear.  
  
Erik moved to stop him.  
  
'I really don't think...'  
  
'DAROGA! WAKE UP, YOU IMMENSE SIMPLETON!!!'  
  
Nadir's eyes flew open. He looked up into Angel's grinning face and screamed.  
  
'No! Erik, save me! Keep away from me, you monster!'  
  
Angel put his hands on his hips.  
  
'Well, that's just charming! First he faints when I offer him a doughnut, then he insults me! What a welcome!'  
  
Nadir was trembling violently. Erik put his hands on his shoulders and forced him back onto the sofa.  
  
'Nadir! It's all right! He means you no harm!'  
  
Nadir stared at Angel.  
  
'But he's got your face!'  
  
'I know! I know! But if you'll just calm down, I'll explain everything.'  
  
Nadir gazed at Erik incredulously.  
  
'You know him?'  
  
'Yes! Angel, go and make Nadir a cup of tea, please.'  
  
Angel glared at Nadir: a very unpleasant expression, which left his teeth and gums completely exposed and caused his eyes to shoot red flames. It was little wonder that Nadir trembled.  
  
'I don't know,' grumbled Angel. 'I'm meant to be a guest! What a way to treat the Phantom of the Opera! The King of Stranglers! The Prince of Conjurors! The...'  
  
'Angel, just go, will you?'  
  
'Fine, fine, I'm going, I'm going...'  
  
And Angel grudgingly left the room.  
  
Nadir stared at Erik in disbelief.  
  
'Angel?' he said.  
  
Erik sighed.  
  
'It's a long story...'  
  
Half an hour later, when Nadir had calmed down, the three of them sat drinking tea in the drawing room. The atmosphere in the room was fraught with tension. Erik drank his tea in silence as Nadir and Angel stared at each other, the latter wearing a fixed smile that managed to be both sweet and malevolent at the same time.  
  
It was Nadir who finally broke the uneasy silence.  
  
'So,' he said, addressing Angel. 'You're Erik's past-self. Quite fascinating. Does this mean I have a past-self, too?'  
  
Nadir's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Erik found himself reflecting on his friend's stubborn-mindedness. Despite Erik's detailed account of his first meeting with Angel, the policeman in Nadir still suspected that the other Phantom was some sort of impostor.  
  
Angel's eyes glinted in annoyance, but his voice was as sweet as his strawberry doughnuts.  
  
'Oh, yes. But he is rather a bore. All he does is run around shouting 'Your hand at the level of your eyes! At the level of your eyes!' I'm sure you would get along swimmingly with him.'  
  
Silence fell once more as Nadir and Angel went back to their staring contest.  
  
Several minutes past, then the doorbell rang. Nadir and Angel both leapt to their feet with simultaneous cries of 'I'll go!'  
  
'No,' said Erik. 'I'll answer it. You two stay here.'  
  
The doorbell rang again, and again. Whoever was outside was very impatient and, Erik suspected, very angry. He swallowed hard and opened the door.  
  
A hand thrust a newspaper into his face.  
  
'What do you call THIS?' said a gruff voice.  
  
'A newspaper,' said Erik. He pushed it away to reveal the angry faces of Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin.  
  
Not the real Richard and Moncharmin, of course. There had been so many managers of the Opera since 1881 that Erik had long since lost track, and consequently he found it much easier to address them all as 'Richard and Moncharmin.' The original Richard and Moncharmin had in fact left the Opera over a century ago and had gone on to enjoy very successful acting careers. For the last sixteen years they had been playing the managers in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, performing under various clever pseudonyms.  
  
Unfortunately, the present managers were not nearly as gullible as their famous predecessors, and Erik often had the horrible feeling they were clever.  
  
The manager that Erik had named Richard glared at him.  
  
'I know it's a newspaper! I was referring to the headline!'  
  
Erik stared at it. It read: The Phantom Unmasked: Erik Reveals His True Colours.  
  
'It's disgraceful!' Richard continued. 'The newspapers are full of pictures of you hitting Count Dracula with bin lids and consorting with Frankenstein's Monster! What were you thinking?'  
  
Erik could not help cowering under Richard's stony gaze.  
  
'I...I just got a bit carried away,' he said lamely.  
  
The manager rolled his eyes and turned to his partner.  
  
'Awww....the poor little Phantom got a bit carried away. Well, I'm afraid that's just not good enough, is it, Claude?'  
  
'Not good enough at all,' agreed the other manager.  
  
Richard turned back to Erik and smiled in a nasty predatory way. He was rather enjoying this. He had been rehearsing his Managerial Opera Ghost Eviction Speech all morning.  
  
'Monsieur le Fantome, in the light of your recent behaviour, it grieves me to inform you that you are no longer welcome in our great institution. I am aware that you have kept a low profile for some time now, so I shall be lenient. You have forty-eight hours in which to vacate your house.'  
  
Erik stared at him.  
  
'But...'  
  
'No 'buts,' M. le Fantome. Consider yourself well and truly evicted.'  
  
Erik searched desperately for something to say.  
  
'And what if I fight you?' he said finally, with more confidence than he felt.  
  
Richard laughed.  
  
'With what? I don't see any bin lids lying around, do you? Happy packing!'  
  
And the two managers turned their backs on Erik and got into their boat, laughing hysterically.  
  
Erik stared after them. For the second time in twenty-four hours he felt like crying. It took all his strength to prevent him from sobbing aloud.  
  
'What's happened?' said Nadir, as his friend limped back into the living room.  
  
'I've just lost my home,' Erik whimpered.  
  
Then he began to cry as only a homeless Phantom could. 


	8. A Dieting Opera Ghost

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm so pleased so many people are still enjoying this story! I've posted a nice long chapter this time, but please let me know if you think it's too long.  
  
BlackRoseGirl: Thank you for pointing out the speech mark thing. It never occurred to me that it mattered, but I'll use proper speech marks from now on.  
  
Disclaimer: 'The Phantom of the Opera' belongs to Gaston Leroux, 'Dracula' belongs to Bram Stoker and 'Frankenstein' to Mary Shelley.  
  
On with the story!  
  
'The Price of Fame'  
  
Chapter Eight: The Trials and Tribulations of a Dieting Opera Ghost.  
  
"There, there..." said Nadir, patting Erik's shoulder. "Don't worry. You can move in with me. Everything will be all right..."  
  
"No it won't," said Angel, contemptuously. "He's just let the managers throw him out of his own Opera House! Why didn't you stick up for yourself, Erik? I would have strangled them! No, correction: I WILL strangle them!"  
  
And he leapt up from his armchair.  
  
Nadir glared at him.  
  
"Haven't you got some doughnuts to eat?" he said, irritably.  
  
Angel's eyes shot flames.  
  
"I can be in a murderous rage and eat doughnuts at the same time!"  
  
"No, Angel..." said Erik, weakly. "Please sit down. Violence doesn't solve anything."  
  
Angel stared at Erik, wondering if he had heard him correctly.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"He said 'violence doesn't solve anything,'" Nadir replied. "And he's right."  
  
Angel looked at Erik in disbelief.  
  
"Great God," he said. "What have they done to you?"  
  
Erik shuddered slightly, but did not reply.  
  
"I'll have you know that Erik is now a respectable member of society," said Nadir. "He no longer feels the need to go around murdering people. And you'd do well to follow his example!"  
  
Angel spread out his cloak dramatically.  
  
"I am the Phantom of the Opera!" he roared. "And I will not be dictated to by you of all people, Daroga! 'A respectable member of society' indeed! Dracula was right! He's gone totally soft! He's forgotten how to be the Phantom! Listen, Erik: regardless of what this great booby may tell you, there are two things which solve problems in life: violence and doughnuts!"  
  
"Don't listen to him, Erik!"  
  
Erik, who had been growing increasingly agitated during this confrontation, suddenly found he could take no more. He was angry. He was angry with the press, the managers, the Phans, Christine, Dracula, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and countless other people whose activities had led to the destruction of his peaceful existence. And, above all, he was angry with Angel for showing him what a weak creature he had become.  
  
For the first time in many years, Erik felt the Phantom inside struggling to get out. A huge dark presence seemed to fill his body and mind, swelling so rapidly inside him that he feared he would burst.  
  
And he did.  
  
"Stop this right now, or Erik will Punjab you!!!" he screamed, jumping up from his chair with his fists clenched.  
  
There was a shocked silence. Angel and Nadir exchanged glances.  
  
"Are you all right, Erik?" said Nadir.  
  
Erik bared his teeth and snorted like a walrus.  
  
"OK, maybe you're not," Nadir concluded.  
  
Impressed by Erik's outburst, Angel watched in fascination as the other Phantom approached him with murder in his eyes.  
  
"So!" said Erik, his throat panting like a furnace. "You think I'm soft, do you? Well, I'll show you who's soft. Daroga! Bring me my lasso!"  
  
Nadir's mouth fell open.  
  
"You're going to strangle him?"  
  
Erik started to laugh. The sound was hideous.  
  
"No, my dear Daroga! I'm going to get my Opera House back, and if that means killing the managers, then so be it!"  
  
"Well, so much for violence not solving anything!" Angel chuckled.  
  
Nadir gasped.  
  
"Erik! No! You're not yourself! Can you hear me? Erik!!!"  
  
Erik looked at Nadir for a moment. Then his shoulders sagged and his eyes stopped glowing. He suddenly looked very small and vulnerable.  
  
"Erik..." Nadir reached out and laid a hand on the Phantom's shoulder. Erik flinched away.  
  
"Don't touch...Erik...like that..." he said weakly.  
  
"It's all right," said Nadir. "I know you're angry. Remember the breathing technique I taught you? Let's do it together. Breathe in, count to five...and exhale. Breathe in, count to five...and exhale. Deeper...deeper...that's right. Relax."  
  
Angel watched in astonishment as Erik repeated this exercise several times. Then he collapsed onto the sofa in an attitude of utter exhaustion, closing his eyes as he did so.  
  
"Very good," said Nadir, squeezing his hand.  
  
Approximately fifteen seconds later, Erik opened his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, Nadir," he said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."  
  
"It's all right. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Well, personally I'm quite impressed!" said Angel excitedly. "I take back what I said about you being totally soft. If you can lose your temper like that, I'm sure you're quite capable of going on a good old-fashioned rampage through the Opera! I'll just get the chainsaw..."  
  
"No one will be going on any rampages, thank you very much!" said Nadir sternly. "Erik's behaviour just now was unacceptable, and I will not let you tempt him over to the dark side again!"  
  
"But don't you see?" said Angel "That's how he's meant to behave! He's supposed to lose his temper on a regular basis and generally cause chaos and destruction! He's the Phantom of the Opera, not Casper the Friendly Ghost!"  
  
"Please stop arguing," groaned Erik. "I've got a headache. I think I'll go to bed."  
  
And, with a heavy heart, the broken Phantom crept into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
)---)---)---  
  
Meanwhile, in Castle Dracula, Christine Daae was bored. There was nothing to read except vampire novels, and, to make matters worse, her handbag had mysteriously disappeared back at the hospital, so she couldn't even read Dracula's sickeningly soppy love letters. And, despite her opulent quarters, she found the new castle almost unbearably dull.  
  
It was just like the old one: a Gothic fortress perched precariously on a crag overlooking a dark, mist-shrouded valley. Inevitably, there were wolves. And bats. And regular thunderstorms. And daily mobs waving the obligatory pitchforks and flaming torches (As a matter of fact, Dracula had recently employed a private mob for his own use. Under the terms of the contract, the mob was permitted to attack Dracula's castle and no other. In return, each mobster was paid a hefty salary and given a pitchfork of his very own. Good mobs were hard to come by these days and Dracula wasn't going to risk losing his mob to the Creepy Castle Theme Park next door).  
  
Christine sighed. It was all so clichéd. Dracula had used every trick in the book to make his new home seem spooky and dramatic. Christine even had her own icy wind which followed her where ever she went.  
  
Dracula had tried his best to please her, but she would still have preferred a luxury villa in Spain. The castle was, she concluded, the dullest and most backward place she had ever been. There wasn't even a Jacuzzi!  
  
But the room service was impeccable.  
  
Christine clapped her hands.  
  
"Igor!"  
  
A small, hunched figure limped into the room.  
  
"Yeth, Marthter?"  
  
Christine shuddered. Not only was Igor very ugly, he also spoke with a lisp! Why did all the men in her life have to be such complete rejects?  
  
"Bring me some champagne!"  
  
"Yeth, Marthter."  
  
"And some chocolate gateau."  
  
"Yeth, Marthter."  
  
"With whipped cream."  
  
"Yeth, Marthter."  
  
"Oh, and Igor?"  
  
"Yeth, Marthter?"  
  
"Stop calling me 'Master'."  
  
"Yeth, Marthter."  
  
Igor limped out of the room.  
  
A large bat flew in through the open window. It had a bandage around its head.  
  
"Good evening, Dracula."  
  
There was a dramatic puff of smoke as Dracula resumed his human form.  
  
"Good evening, my love," he said. "You are looking delicious this evening. Particularly your neck."  
  
And he bent to kiss it.  
  
Christine put out a hand to stop him.  
  
"No, my love. Not now."  
  
Dracula looked hurt.  
  
"Why not? We are quite alone. Well, apart from the portraits."  
  
Christine glanced up at the old portraits on the wall. Embarrassed, they hastily averted their eyes.  
  
"They give me the creeps," said Christine. "Can't we get rid of them?"  
  
"Oh, come now, my dear! This is meant to be a Gothic castle. You've got to have portraits with moving eyes. It's what people expect. They don't do any harm, and they can be very conversational when they want to be."  
  
Christine was well aware of this. One portrait had treated her to an hour long lecture on the beauty of oil painting.  
  
"What can I do for you, Dracula?"  
  
Dracula gave her a pathetic look.  
  
"I'm a poor injured vampire and I want a little tender loving care from my true love."  
  
Christine groaned inwardly and looked at Dracula's bandage.  
  
"I'm sorry about that, Drac," she said. "Does it still hurt?"  
  
"A little. But it was worth it, my dear, to see that great chubby wimp of a Phantom squirm before the cameras! Oh, and that reminds me...here are the papers."  
  
Dracula handed Christine a thick wad of tabloids.  
  
Christine read the first one, and chuckled.  
  
"Well, well, well," she said, after a moment. "Erik and Frank! That's more than I dared hope for!"  
  
"Excuth me, Marthter..." said a voice from the doorway.  
  
Christine turned and glared at the servant in annoyance.  
  
"What is it, Igor?"  
  
Igor trembled, almost spilling the champagne. Christine had to be the most frightening person he had ever met. And, considering he had worked for vampires and mad scientists for the best part of fifty years, he must have come into contact with some pretty frightening people.  
  
"There'th a young fellow downstairth," he said nervously. "Name of Chagny. He thayth he'th here to thee you."  
  
Dracula smiled at Christine malevolently.  
  
"The star of the show has arrived," he said, in his most sinister voice.  
  
There was an appropriate roll of thunder and a flash of lightning.  
  
Christine smiled.  
  
"Very well, Igor, show him up."  
  
There was another appropriate roll of thunder.  
  
Igor limped away, and Christine turned to Dracula.  
  
"My dear, send word to the others that our little friend is here. It's time for the next stage in our diabolical scheme."  
  
Dracula nodded.  
  
"Yes, my love."  
  
The thunder rolled appropriately.  
  
"Oh, and Dracula?"  
  
"Yes, my love?"  
  
"Turn that wretched thunder machine off, will you?"  
  
Dracula sighed.  
  
"Yes, my love."  
  
Dracula morphed back into a bat and flew out of the window.  
  
Alone again, Christine looked down at Erik's photograph in the newspaper. Then she reached inside her pocket and produced an old photograph of Raoul. She looked from one to the other, and then burst into a fit of maniacal laughter which any professional super villain would have been proud of.  
  
"It can't fail!" she said, to no one in particular. "Christine, you're a genius!"  
  
Then she ran out onto her private balcony (another essential feature of a woman's apartment in a spooky castle), and looked down at the valley below. She threw back her head and spread out her arms, her cloak billowing out behind her.  
  
"The time for revenge has come!" she declared, to the world in general. "The Phantom will fall! Christine Daae will triumph!"  
  
The thunder rolled appropriately.  
  
Christine glared at the sky.  
  
"Oh, shut up!"  
  
)---)---)---  
  
It was shortly before 7.00pm. Silence reigned in the Phantom's Lair.  
  
Erik had retired to his room three hours earlier, and Angel had slipped away not long afterwards.  
  
Nadir sat in the drawing room and stared at the wall. He was worried about Erik. It was a very long time since the Phantom had threatened to Punjab anyone, and Nadir was alarmed by this sudden change of character. He was also very concerned about Angel's appearance on the scene. What if Erik's past-self led him astray?  
  
Nadir sighed. Why did he spend all his time worrying about a cellar- dwelling monster? Surely he had better things to do?  
  
Nadir thought about this a bit more, and, to his great sadness, realised that he didn't.  
  
He closed his eyes and dozed.  
  
"The hills are alive...with the sound of music!"  
  
Nadir opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.  
  
"With songs they have sung...for a thousand years!"  
  
The voice, which could best be described as a sort of surreal cross between Julie Andrews and Ewan McGregor, seemed to be coming from the direction of the lake.  
  
Nadir groaned as he realised what this meant.  
  
"My heart will be blessed...with the sound of music..."  
  
Nadir heard the front door open and close. The voice was suddenly unbearably loud.  
  
"And I'll sing...once...more."  
  
Angel bounded into the living room, a large sack slung over one shoulder. He grinned at Nadir, and immediately launched into the next item in his repertoire.  
  
"Somewhere over the rainbow..."  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud, enough already!" cried Nadir, lifting his hands to his ears. "Erik wants to sleep!"  
  
"Then my singing will soothe him," said Angel brightly.  
  
"Soothe him?! It'll give him nightmares! Why are you still here, anyway? I thought you'd gone."  
  
"I've been shopping," said Angel. "It looks like I'm going to be around for a while, so I thought I'd get some supplies."  
  
Nadir stared at him.  
  
"You're staying here?"  
  
"Yes. Well, only until Erik leaves, of course. Then I'm moving in with you."  
  
"You're WHAT?"  
  
"You said Erik could move in with you, and I'm going where he goes."  
  
"Oh no you're not!" said Nadir. "I'm not having two of you stomping around my lovely apartment!"  
  
"Why not? It'll be fun! It could form the basis of a great TV sitcom: 'Two Phantoms and a Persian'!"  
  
Nadir thought about the opportunities for slapstick comedy, conflicts and general destruction. They were endless.  
  
"No way," he said. "It's not going to happen!"  
  
Angel looked at Nadir with a pair of big golden eyes.  
  
"Please?" he said.  
  
"No."  
  
"Pretty please?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'll make omelettes every morning."  
  
"The answer is no! Why do you want to stay with us, anyway? I thought you were living under Her Majesty's Theatre."  
  
"That's true," Angel replied, with a serious expression. "But I don't want to leave Erik. I'm very worried about him, you see."  
  
Nadir looked at Angel for a moment, wondering if he could trust him.  
  
"I'm worried about Erik, too," he said finally. "His behaviour today was totally out of character. He hasn't threatened to kill anyone since...well, since..."  
  
"Since he threatened to blow this place to smithereens?" Angel volunteered.  
  
Nadir nodded gravely. "I just don't understand it."  
  
Angel sat down opposite him.  
  
"He's been through a lot these past two days," he said. "Personally, I was quite pleased when he lost his temper. What worries me is that he doesn't seem to lose it as often as he should, and even if he does his rage doesn't last for long. He just seems so tame and settled, yet so sad and tired at the same time. I'm worried that he won't be able to stand up to Christine and Dracula and those who wish to do him harm," Angel paused for a moment. "Something terrible is going to happen to him, Nadir. I can sense it. And he may never recover, unless he finds the strength to go 'over to the dark side again' as you put it earlier."  
  
Nadir shook his head. "No. I don't want him to go back to how he was before. I've worked very hard to calm him down."  
  
"I know. But you're his best friend, Nadir, and he needs you to support him no matter what. Please, Nadir...let me help him. Let me show him how to be the Phantom of the Opera again."  
  
Nadir sighed. "Oh, all right. You can stay with us if you want to. And you can help him, but I'll be keeping a very close eye on both of you. Understand?"  
  
Angel grinned. "I understand completely. Thank you, Nadir."  
  
Nadir stood up. "I'll go and make sure he's all right."  
  
"No. I'll go. I want to talk to him anyway."  
  
"Very well."  
  
Angel went into Erik's room and quietly closed the door.  
  
Erik was lying huddled on his bed, dressed in a pair of black silk pyjamas. He looked very pale and tired, and he had obviously been crying.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
Erik opened his eyes.  
  
"Angel?" he said weakly.  
  
Angel nodded. "Are you all right, Erik?"  
  
Erik sat up and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"Not really. Oh, Angel, what am I going to do?"  
  
Angel reached inside his sack.  
  
"Have a doughnut?"  
  
Erik couldn't help smiling.  
  
"Doughnuts don't solve every problem, you know."  
  
"I know. But they certainly help. Would you like one? I've got blackcurrant flavour today."  
  
"No, thank you. I'm not allowed doughnuts."  
  
Angel gasped. "Not allowed doughnuts? Why?"  
  
"I'm on a diet."  
  
"You? Diet? Since when?"  
  
"Since this morning."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Erik sighed. "Both Dracula and the press have drawn attention to the fact that I'm not as svelte as I used to be."  
  
"Oh, I see. You're upset because they called you portly."  
  
Erik looked up at Angel.  
  
"Do you think I am?"  
  
"Yes," said Angel, without missing a beat. "But I wouldn't worry about it."  
  
Erik stared at him.  
  
"But the Phantom isn't meant to be portly! He's meant to be skinny! You know, 'His dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame.' Little chance of that now. And those comments will be talked to death on message boards and the Phans will send me letters, just like with the beach pictures, and they'll quote the novel at me and I can't go through all that again, Angel, I just can't..."  
  
"All right, calm down. I've got a plan."  
  
"A plan?"  
  
"Yes. Listen...you want your lair back, don't you?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"And you want to fend off all these attacks from Christine and Dracula and the press, don't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, this is what you're going to do. In this sack I've got an evening suit that's a couple of sizes too big for you. Tomorrow, instead of putting on that figure-hugging little evening suit with the fancy waistcoat and frilly cravat, you're going to put on this second-rate overlarge evening suit, take out those ridiculous odd contact lenses, and throw that Michael Crawford-style wig in the dustbin, understand?"  
  
Erik gaped at him.  
  
"I'm not sure I like where this is going," he said.  
  
Angel grinned. He was enjoying himself immensely.  
  
"Then, when you look as much like me as possible, you're going to take a little trip around the Opera House. You're going to climb ropes and ladders, swing about in the flies, do some press-ups, practice your maniacal laugh and ventriloquism and end with some good old-fashioned Phantom-style mischief. And you're going to do this every day for as long as it takes you to lose weight, get your energy and sense of adventure back and become every inch the Phantom you used to be. And then, when I think you're ready, you're going to take on the managers and get your lair back, and show the Phans and the media what you're made of."  
  
Erik stared at Angel in bewilderment.  
  
"And what are you going to do?" he asked.  
  
"I'm going to sit there and tell you what to do. I'm your Personal Trainer."  
  
Erik raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Personal Trainer?"  
  
"Yes. Lots of celebrities have them. And what better way to learn how to be the Phantom again than from your past-self?"  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Come on, Erik! It'll be fun! It'll take time, of course, but I'm sure it'll be worth it in the end."  
  
Erik sighed.  
  
"Oh, all right. I don't think I have much choice."  
  
Angel grinned again.  
  
"Jolly good! Now, let me sing you to sleep. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow."  
  
Erik groaned. He had heard Angel's rendition of 'The Sound of Music' only too clearly. Angel had an amazing voice. It was just his choice of songs which bothered Erik.  
  
"No, that won't be necessary, thank you."  
  
"Please! I've just learned the entire score of 'Chicago'! on babe, why don't we paint the town...da da dum dum dum...and all that jazz!"  
  
Erik buried his head under the bedclothes and sighed. It was going to be a very long night.  
  
Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please review!  
  
I'd just like to credit a few things which feature in this chapter. Igor's way of speaking was copied from the Igor character in Terry Pratchett's novel 'Carpe Jugulum,' an excellent parody of the Gothic genre which I highly recommend. I had no idea how Igor should talk and this was an invaluable guide!  
  
'The Sound of Music' is by Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein II.  
  
'The Wizard of Oz' (so presumably including 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow') was written by Florence Ryerson, Noel Langley and Edgar Allan Woolf.  
  
'Chicago' was written by Fred Ebb, John Kander and Bob Fosse.  
  
There. Now I feel like a true musicals anorak! 


	9. Diabolical Devices

Author's note: Thank you once again for the lovely reviews! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter.

PheonixFlame6: I think I can safely say that Van Helsing WILL leap in at some point!

Randomness: That's an interesting idea, but if Mina does appear on the scene, she will only have a very small part to play in the story. I'll see what I can do.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera', 'Dracula,' or 'Frankenstein.' I don't own any zombies, either. The name of the werewolf was taken from 'Van Helsing.'

On with the story!

'The Price of Fame.'

Chapter Nine: The Diabolical Devices of the Dastardly Daae.

It was midnight in Transylvania. The Children of the Night walked, lurched and flew into the Great Hall of Castle Dracula, and helped themselves to drinks and canapés from the refreshment table.

The guests were a mixed bunch. Dracula had sent invitations to all his contacts throughout the world. A large number of vampires chatted amicably and sipped blood from crystal glasses. Werewolves jostled for position around the trays of sausages on sticks. The occasional zombie lurched around the room, bumping into things.

Dracula planned to use the Great Hall as a venue for live entertainment as a way of generating further income and reaching out to the local community. He had recently spent a considerable amount of money on comfortable seating, an advanced sound system and, most importantly, a vast stage complete with red velvet curtains. On this particular evening the curtains were open, a huge projector screen had been suspended from the flies, and a pulpit had been placed at the front of the stage, complete with microphone. The raked seating had been temporarily removed and replaced by two dozen small tables around which the guests were now gathering, their plates loaded and their glasses full.

An excited murmur went up from the crowd as Dracula materialised onstage and mounted the pulpit. He was wearing full evening dress and a black opera cape lined with red satin. Despite his mockery of Erik's evening suit, Dracula knew that, on occasions such as this, you couldn't beat the classics. The evening suit demanded respect, as did his slicked back dark hair. He was even wearing a pair of fang extensions which his dentist had made especially for him, just in case his real fangs could not be seen at the back of the auditorium. Dracula was remarkably insecure about certain aspects of his appearance, the length of his fangs being one of them.

He stared out across the sea of staring faces and smiled, the accentuated fangs glinting in the candlelight. The guests had fallen completely silent. Gothic monsters liked to pretend they did not have a ruler, but they did. And it was Dracula. And Dracula knew it.

He winked at a group of pretty young female vampires, who immediately folded up in a series of carefully choreographed faints. Then he held up his arms.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed Creatures of the Night! Welcome to the First Annual General Meeting of Vampires, Werewolves and Other Random Gothic Beings. On behalf of Dracula Productions Limited, I would like to thank you all very much for coming. Refreshments, as you can see, have been ably provided by the Festering Food Company, a dedicated team of Igors who have worked extremely hard to produce this sumptuous spread for you this evening! Please join me in giving them a round of applause."

The audience applauded enthusiastically. A couple of werewolves howled their approval.

Dracula held up his hands again, requesting silence.

"Do we have any apologies for absence?"

A werewolf raised a paw nervously.

"Please, Sir...Mr Frankenstein's Monster does not appear to be present."

A vampire laughed. "The coward! He'll be afraid to show his face after that lovely picture in 'The Trivia'!"

Dracula glared at him. "Silence, fool! If you have nothing useful to contribute, please keep your thoughts to yourself!" He turned to address the werewolf. "Thank you, Velkan. The absence has been recorded."

Dracula leafed through his papers for a moment. In truth, he had not sent Frank an invitation. The monster considered Erik a good friend, and Dracula knew that taking Frank into his confidence would be far too risky.

The vampire looked up from the papers and beamed at the audience.

"No more apologies? Good. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce our guest speaker for this evening, who will give a presentation on the first and most urgent matter on this evening's agenda. Please put your hands together for the charming, talented and exceedingly beautiful Mademoiselle Christine Daae!"

Christine strode out from the wings, looking as though she had just stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Her long blonde hair fell freely over her shoulders, and the satin folds of her white gown glinted in the light from the chandelier.

There was a communal intake of breath from the crowd as this unearthly apparition mounted the pulpit. A second went by, then the whole room erupted into loud, delighted applause. Creatures who dwell in the darkest, loneliest places of the world certainly appreciate real beauty when they see it.

"My friends," Christine declared, smiling prettily around the room. "I cannot tell you how much your warm reception means to me. I am here tonight to inform you of a new evil which threatens to engulf the Kingdom of Darkness. Igor, first slide, please!"

The lights dimmed, and a large black and white image appeared on the projector screen. It was a still from the 1931 film of 'Dracula', starring Bela Lugosi.

"Throughout the 20th Century," Christine began, "Dracula and his children have appeared regularly on the silver screen, causing mortals to scream in delighted terror. But now the cinematic supremacy of Count Dracula is being threatened by a mere amateur...the Phantom of the Opera!"

Another image appeared on the screen. It was a photograph of a bare-chested Erik sunbathing on a golden beach.

A couple of vampires started to laugh. Christine gave them an icy stare.

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "It is only too easy to ridicule the Phantom of the Opera. Although famous, he is not so widely held in the public mind as our own dear Dracula. His fame is almost entirely due to the silent movie of 1925 and Andrew Lloyd Webber's hit musical of 1986. But it is this musical which is the biggest threat to Dracula and his friends. I am sure you are now all aware of the new Phantom movie finally going into production. If successful, this film may be enough to catapult Erik into the full glare of the public eye, thus drawing attention away from our beloved Count Dracula."

The guests began to talk worriedly amongst themselves. Christine cleared her throat to get their attention.

The crowd was silent. The chandelier rocked gently from side to side. Christine could clear her throat very loudly indeed.

"Our plan," Christine continued, "is to make a rival Phantom movie of our very own, here at Castle Dracula Studios. It will be released next December, a week before the musical version is due to open. It will feature a beautiful heroine, a sexy, heroic vampire, and a hideously ugly and downright evil Phantom. Ladies and gentlemen...I give you... 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera'!"

A huge poster appeared on the projector screen. Blood dripped from the red letters of the title. There was a photograph of Dracula holding an unconscious Christine in his arms. An immense black shadow with glowing yellow eyes loomed over them both.

The audience gasped. Christine gave a triumphant smile.

"Dracula, of course, will be the hero of the film, saving his beloved Christine – played by myself – from the clutches of the evil Phantom. As well as shattering numerous chandeliers and blowing things up completely at random, Erik will also torture his victims by showing them his stamp collection and singing them nursery rhymes. He will be seen shirtless on five occasions: a necessary feature of any modern blockbuster. However, Dracula will be seen shirtless a grand total of eight times, and he has a much nicer six-pack than Erik, so the audience is bound to favour him. There will be a climactic bin lid fight between the hero and the villain, and lots of random horseback riding for Dracula. Erik will eventually be hunted down and killed by Dracula and a large mob of vengeful ballet dancers, singers and stamp collection torture victims. The film will end with a nice cheesy shot of Dracula and I kissing passionately in front of a full moon, with every known type of stringed instrument playing in the background.

"The film will be directed by Dracula, and funding has been generously provided by the Completely Unnecessary Horror Film Council.

"This movie will not only be a spectacular blockbuster which will prove irresistible to horror fans throughout the world. It will also ruin Erik's reputation, causing people to stay well clear of the Lloyd Webber version."

The audience cheered. Here was a project they could really believe in!

Christine smiled prettily.

"Are there any questions?"

A serious-looking young vampire raised a hand.

"Yes?"

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. "Er...well, I was just wondering...do you think cinema-going audiences are really stupid enough to fall for rubbish like that?"

"With an effective marketing campaign, audiences are stupid enough to fall for anything," Christine replied, with the authority of someone who suddenly knows everything about the film business.

"But what about the Phans? The Phans will never swallow tripe like that."

"Oh, but they will. Igor! Next slide, if you please!"

A picture of a Phan appeared on the screen. She was easily recognisable as a Phan, because she was wearing a Phantom sweatshirt, Phantom watch, Phantom glow-in-the-dark badge, and a plastic Phantom mask.

"Our research shows that the typical Phan is obsessed with collecting Phantom merchandise," said Christine. "This is their main weakness. Therefore, Dracula and I came up with our very own piece of Phantom memorabilia: 'The Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Doll ™'"

She held up a small Phantom figurine. It was wearing a black cape, a fedora, a decorative waistcoat and a little white mask. A large photograph of the same doll appeared on the screen.

"Each doll contains a tiny sensor. When a Phan plays any music from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom in the presence of the doll, its eyes start to glow and it says a series of special phrases, hypnotising the unfortunate Phan. Allow me to demonstrate...Igor! Bring in the prisoners!"

Two Phantom Phans were dragged onstage. They were both wearing Phantom sweatshirts and black capes.

"Erik forever!" cried one.

"Dracula sucks!" cried the other.

"We are the two founder members of the 'Save Erik from Christine Campaign'!" declared Phan One. "And we will not allow your evil plan to succeed!"

"We've already started a petition!" added Phan Two, brandishing a piece of note paper threateningly.

"Oh, have you really?" said Christine, innocently. "Well, I'd like you to meet a little friend of mine: The Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Doll ™."

The two Phans stared at the small figure.

"Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..." said Phan Two, at great length. "He's so cute!"

Phan One nudged her companion. "Don't be stupid. They're trying to trick us! That doll is evil! Evil, I tell you!"

Christine grinned. "Cue 'Music of the Night'!"

The song began to play, and the doll's golden eyes started to glow in a distinctly sinister fashion.

The Phans froze, and stared at the doll with vacant expressions on their faces.

"I am Erik!" said the Hypno-Doll, in a voice of irresistible power and beauty. "You will obey my commands without question!"

"You are Erik. We will obey your commands without question," chanted the Phans, in a monotone.

"You will forget about Joel Schumacher's film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera' completely, and devote all of your time and energy into publicising 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'"

"We will forget about Joel Schumacher's film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera' completely, and devote all of our time and energy into publicising 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'"

"You will go and see the movie at least one hundred times."

"We will go and see the movie at least one hundred times."

"You will conclude that it is the greatest movie in the history of the universe."

"We will conclude that it is the greatest movie in the history of the universe."

Christine waved at the Sound Technician. The music stopped. The doll was silent.

The Phans shook their heads and looked at each other.

"What happened?" said Phan One.

"Who cares?" said Phan Two. "I suddenly have an irresistible urge to tell everyone in the world about 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera,' the Greatest Movie in the History of the Universe!!! Come, Sister, let us go forth and spread the word!"

And the two Phans linked arms and skipped offstage, whistling happily to themselves.

The Great Hall was silent for a moment. Then the entire crowd burst into frenzied applause.

"The Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Doll ™ will be available from all good toy shops, music shops, cinemas and department stores six months before the movie is released," said Christine. "Our plan simply cannot fail. The movie will be a triumph! Dracula will reign supreme...and our dear Erik will learn the true price of fame! Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!"

The crowd joined in heartily with Christine's maniacal laughter. It went on for rather longer than was strictly necessary.

"But you have not told us the most important thing!" shrieked a vampire, when the laughter had finally died down. "Who will play the Phantom in our new movie?"

"Yes!" said someone else. "Who will play the Phantom?"

"Ahhh," said Christine. "Now that's the fiendishly clever part! Dracula and I agonised over the casting of the Phantom for many weeks. You see, we do not want our Phantom to be in the least bit likeable, so we knew we needed an actor who would arouse feelings of great loathing and distaste in most members of the human race. We needed someone who, despite not entirely deserving his reputation, is nevertheless considered boring, stupid, and downright irritating. Ladies and gentlemen...I give you...The Phantom of the Opera!"

A figure sauntered on from the wings. It was wearing a fashionable white suit and an artificial tan. It was also grinning madly from ear to ear.

The crowd was silent, staring at the man in disbelief.

Apparently unfazed by the rather cold reception, the man continued to smile warmly back at them, his perfect white teeth gleaming in the spotlight. Then he waved in an over-enthusiastic fashion.

"Hi everyone!"

It was Raoul.

Author's note: For any Raoul lovers who may be reading this, please don't worry: I am going to make Raoul a sympathetic character. I will not ridicule him any more than any other character in this story. Well, not much more, anyway.


	10. A Phantom's Wardrobe

Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I'm so sorry I haven't updated for such a long time!

I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's quite a bit longer than the last one, with plenty of Erik and Angel. But don't worry, Raoul fans: Raoul is present in this chapter too!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera.' The quotation in this chapter is taken from the novel by Gaston Leroux. 'Dracula' belongs to Bram Stoker. The Igors belong to Terry Pratchett.

On with the story!

'The Price of Fame'

Chapter Ten: The Curious Contents of a Phantom's Wardrobe

Erik folded his arms and glared defiantly at Angel.

"I am not wearing that."

Angel smiled down at the object in his hand. "Oh, come on, Erik! It's totally you! Look...it even comes with a pair of free sunglasses..."

"Angel, I am not wearing a fake nose, particularly one which has a ginger moustache attached to it."

"But the moustache is detachable! Look!"

"I don't care if the damned moustache is detachable or not! I refuse to go out with that thing stuck to my face!"

It was the first day of Erik's new training programme, and Angel had decided that the first step towards progress was to redesign Erik's wardrobe. This was no small task. There had been a time when Erik was content to wear the same old oversized evening suits, black capes and felt hats day after day. But then the musical had come along, followed by the Charles Dance miniseries. And suddenly the Phantom of the Opera had acquired a sense of fashion.

Therefore, Angel was not surprised when he opened the door of Erik's huge walk-in wardrobe only to be confronted by row upon row of elegantly tailored evening suits, silk cravats, beaded capes, intricately embroidered kimonos, delicate white gloves, exotic plumed hats, red stockings, extremely interesting waistcoats, and masks for every occasion. After staring at the mountain of silk, satin and sequins for a brief moment, Angel had reached an important conclusion: Erik needed a makeover. And what better person to perform this gargantuan task than he, Angel, fashion designer extraordinaire and internationally renowned style guru?

Consequently, an extremely irritable Erik was now wearing a dreadful baggy evening suit (Introduced by Angel as "The All-Purpose Evening Suit, ideal for a Phantom with a busy schedule"), a deformed fedora hat ("It'll add to your mystery!"), and a shapeless black cape ("Black will never go out of fashion!"). Erik had grudgingly removed his contact lenses and his favourite wig, and he had agreed to wear Angel's boring black mask on "special occasions."

But he would not wear a fake nose. Never.

"Oh, why are you being so stubborn, Erik? A fake nose is just what you need! I don't know what I'd do without mine. You can wear it when you go shopping instead of your mask. People won't even know it's fake, and you'll look just like everyone else! Allow me to demonstrate..."

Angel placed the nose delicately over his nasal cavity. Then he turned to face Erik, twirling one corner of the moustache around a skeletal finger.

"See? Just like a real nose! What are you laughing at?"

Erik's shoulders were shaking. The absurdity of the image before him was more than he could bear. Far too large for Angel's face, and a different colour to the rest of his skin, the overall effect was of a skeleton dressing up as a living, breathing human for Halloween.

Angel looked at Erik in bewilderment.

"What's the matter? Don't you think I look suave and sophisticated?"

"No, Angel. You look like a reject from the cast of 'Scooby Doo'!" And Erik roared with laughter.

Angel put his hands on his hips.

"Well, at least I look a bit spooky! You usually resemble an overweight vampire covered in glitter!"

Angel grinned triumphantly. Now that was what you called an insult!

Erik stopped laughing abruptly.

"How dare you! I do not look like an overweight vampire!" Erik lowered his voice, clearly hurt. "I'm just a little portly, that's all..."

"And the glitter?"

Erik blushed.

"I only wear my beaded cloak on special occasions...What on earth are you doing now?"

Angel had opened Erik's wardrobe again, and was throwing various garments onto the floor.

"I'm getting rid of all the clothes you don't need anymore. We'll have less to pack when we move into Nadir's tomorrow."

Erik watched in disbelief as several expensive evening suits landed at his feet.

"Oh, no, you're not! Most of the things in that wardrobe were specially made for me! And I do need those evening suits!"

"No you don't. You've got that nice new one now."

Erik looked down at the shapeless suit.

"It's horrible. It makes me look like a clothes horse!"

"Oh, you'll soon get used to it!" said Angel cheerfully, adding several cloaks to the pile of rejected clothing.

Erik looked down at the abused garments sadly. He reached down and picked one of the nicer cloaks up.

A small gold object fell onto the floor.

Erik bent to retrieve it.

"My God," he thought, staring at the locket in disbelief. "I thought I'd lost you..."

"What's that?" said Angel, peering over Erik's shoulder.

Erik closed his hand around the locket. "Just something I found."

Angel's eyes burned with curiosity. "Can I see it?"

"No!" said Erik, slightly more sharply than he had intended. "It's nothing interesting, really."

"Well, if it's nothing interesting it won't matter if I see it," said Angel, with the Phantom of the Opera's infuriatingly logical brand of logic.

Erik sighed. He knew he'd lost. When Angel was interested in something, he'd stop at nothing to satisfy his curiosity.

"Oh, all right," he said, opening his hands. "Happy now?"

Angel stared down at the locket in a manner which suggested that, if it were human, he would probably dissect it.

"That's pretty. What's inside it?"

Erik undid the little clasp which held the locket closed. It sprang open to reveal a tiny portrait of an exquisitely beautiful young woman.

"It's Christine!" said Angel, with almost childlike excitement. "Oh, Erik! Where did you get this?"

"She gave it to me," said Erik, in a dreamy, distant voice. "It was the first time I brought her down to my lair, when she stayed with me for a fortnight. One night I woke up screaming from a terrible nightmare. I didn't want Christine to hear me, because I was afraid she would think I was weak. But she did hear me and she came running into my bedroom. I was huddled under the bedclothes, crying my eyes out. When I saw her I became hysterical...I told Christine that I didn't want her to leave, that I didn't want to be on my own underground anymore because I was scared. Christine left the room and came back with this locket. She pressed it into my hand and told me not to be scared. She said she would always be with me if I wore it close to my heart. And I believed her."

Angel gave a little sob. Erik looked up just in time to see him wipe away a tear.

"That's so beautiful. I wish my Christine said things like that to me."

Erik looked at him in confusion. "But surely you've had the same experiences as I've had?"

Angel shook his head. "No. I'm confined to the novel. I only live out the events which you described to Gaston Leroux. I'm lucky if my Christine gives me a kind word..."

"Oh, Angel, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right. I understand why you didn't tell him about that. It's far too personal."

There was silence, as both Phantoms stared tenderly down at the portrait.

"You still love her, don't you?" said Angel, after a moment.

"Yes. Even after everything we've been through, I still love her."

Angel thought for a moment. "Does this mean you're still a...does this mean you've never been with anyone else?"

Erik nodded. "Pathetic really, for a man of my age."

"I think it's romantic," said Angel. "I've noticed you still wear her ring."

Erik looked down at the small gold ring on the little finger of his right hand.

"I couldn't take it off now even if I wanted to. My finger is much too fat. See?" Erik tried to remove the ring. "It won't budge. Maybe when I lose weight I'll finally be free of it..."

There was another silence. Suddenly Erik started to shake. Then he burst into loud, anguished sobs and sank down onto the bed.

"I just don't know...where it all went wrong...Angel," he gasped. "Even when I let her go she still cared about me...I know she did. Sometimes I like to imagine that she really loved me when she left. I go on the internet and read the stories about Christine coming back to me and the two of us living happily ever after...and I wish that would happen in real life, Angel...I wish she would come back to me..."

Angel looked at Erik with compassion in his eyes.

"Oh, hush! I know, I know..." he crooned, patting Erik's shoulder with a skeletal hand. "Don't cry, please, or you'll start me off!"

"I'm sorry, Angel. I just wish I knew what I did to make her hate me so much..."

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you really," said Angel, uncertainly.

"Oh, she does. I saw it in her eyes after the bin lid fight. I've seen that look too many times not to recognise it..."

Angel searched desperately for something comforting to say.

"Well, this may not be much of a consolation, but at least you've still got Nadir."

Erik laughed in spite of himself. "Oh, I'll never get rid of him. Every time I think he's gone for good, he turns up again like the proverbial bad penny. But he's a good companion, I must admit."

"And you've still got doughnuts."

Erik laughed harder. "Yes, I've still got doughnuts."

"And you've still got me."

There was a pause. Erik looked at Angel for a moment. There was something about his warm golden eyes, sweet voice, and lively, childlike nature which Erik found both comforting and endearing. There always seemed to be a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He was like a dog whose spirit would not be broken, no matter how many times it was kicked by the Great Leather Boot of Society.

Erik wished he was still like that. He also wished he could thank Angel for being so understanding...

"Are you all right now?" said Angel, concern weighing heavily on every syllable.

Erik nodded, and held out the locket. "Angel, I want you to have this."

Angel looked from Erik to the locket and back again.

"Oh, Erik! I can't accept that!"

"Yes, you can. Please? I haven't worn it for years, and it seems a shame just to put it back in the wardrobe." Erik took Angel's hand and closed it around the locket. "It's yours."

A tear appeared in Angel's eye socket. "This is the first time anyone's ever given me a present. Well, apart from masks, and they don't really count. I suppose that's the equivalent of an ordinary human getting socks for Christmas..." Angel's eyes glowed with gratitude. "Thank you so much..."

Erik smiled. "It's my pleasure. Now I think we'd better stop talking about this. It's starting to get very cheesy."

Angel fastened the locket around his neck. Then he pulled himself together and nodded. "You're right. I think it's about time we began the next stage of the training programme. Are you sure you can't be persuaded to wear the nose?"

Erik shook his head. "No."

Angel shrugged. "Oh, well...I suppose it really isn't necessary for our first little exercise of the day."

"And what might that be?"

Angel smiled sweetly. "You'll see..."

--)--)—

When Christine awoke, she was lying on a chaise longue in a stone cavern containing rather too many candles. She stretched drowsily, yawned, rubbed her eyes, and arranged her dress so it lay about her in the most elegant way possible. Then she reacted to her surroundings.

"Where...where am I?"

A dark figure extended a hand towards her.

"Christine...my love..."

Christine screamed and leapt to her feet.

"You! I thought I told you to keep away from me!"

The Phantom went down on his knees before her.

"You did...but I am drawn to you, like the moth that is drawn to the light bulb...And like the moth, I am burned by your incandescent beauty..."

Christine grimaced. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The Phantom looked up at her with a pair of great pleading eyes.

"Oh, Christine...please refrain from vomiting long enough for me to ask you the question I have been dying to ask you...to ask you...dying to...Oh, fffffffiddlesticks!"

"CUT!"

Raoul got to his feet and looked sheepishly at Dracula, who had stepped onto the set.

"I'm sorry, Dracula. I just can't seem to get that part right..."

Dracula sighed. This boy was starting to annoy him, but perhaps that was a good thing. After all, they had hired Raoul for his immense ability to be irritating. He reached forward and patted the young actor on the shoulder.

"It's OK. We'll try it again from the beginning of the Phantom's Moth Speech. Positions please, everyone!"

Raoul went down on his knees again. Christine stood before him looking disgusted. Dracula retreated to his personalised director's chair.

Igor held up a clapperboard.

"Really Cheethy Phantom'th Lair Thene Take Thirty! Acthion!"

Raoul wrung his hands melodramatically. "You did...but I am drawn to you, like the light bulb that is drawn to the moth...I mean...oh, fiddlesticks, fiddlesticks, fiddlesticks!"

"Cut, cut, cut!" Dracula got to his feet and addressed the film crew. "Take a blood break, everyone. We'll start again in half an hour." He turned to Raoul. "Now Raoul, what seems to be the problem, old chap?"

"I don't know, Dracula," Raoul whimpered. "It's just this script. It's terrible. It's worse than that version with the rats, and that's saying something."

Dracula smiled. "Good. I'm glad you think that."

Raoul gave him a puzzled look. "You mean you want your film to be bad?"

"It doesn't matter how bad the film is, old chap, as long as we destroy Erik's reputation, ruin 'The Phantom of the Opera' forever, and preferably make lots of money along the way. Now you run along and rehearse those lines of yours. Oh, and get your hair cut."

Raoul bristled with anger. "What did you say?"

"I said 'Get your hair cut.' It looks dreadful on camera. You look like an extra from 'The Lord of the Rings.'"

Raoul smiled. "Oh! Do you really think so?"

Dracula rolled his eyes. "Go and get it cut."

Raoul's face fell. "Can't I just tie it back in a ponytail? I've got a nice black satin ribbon in my room..."

"Igor is a dab hand with a pair of scissors," Dracula continued, ignoring him. "Ask him to shave off your sideburns while he's at it. Then we'll film the scene again from scratch."

And Dracula stalked over to the vending machine and selected his favourite beverage.

Raoul stared after him, and sighed deeply. This was the first day of shooting, and he was already starting to hate this job. The script was dreadful, the crew and cast (apart from himself and Christine, of course) seemed to consist entirely of vampires, werewolves and zombies, and Dracula was a major pain in the neck. How dare the stuck-up old leech order Raoul to cut his beloved hair!

Tired of being referred to as 'The Fop' by Erik's army of Phans, Raoul had decided to change his image. He wanted to be a different Raoul: A Raoul who was dynamic, sexy, strong, and not afraid of sock puppets.

Consequently, he had started working-out on a regular basis, and had acquired sword fighting and horse riding skills. He had discarded his expensive tailor-made suits, and had taken to wearing tight leather trousers and baggy white shirts which he often left unbuttoned, revealing his small yet muscular chest. He had also decided to grow his hair, and it was now shoulder-length. Sometimes he added red highlights. He was Raoul the Rebellious, ready to take Hollywood by storm.

Unfortunately, his only roles so far had been in obscure costume dramas, playing characters one could only describe as 'foppish.' Just a few weeks earlier, Raoul had been seriously considering turning his back on the film business and trying his hand at politics instead.

And then the Letter had arrived, the magical Letter from his beloved Christine, his ex-wife, whom he had not seen since 1988. Christine had told him all about Dracula, their new castle in Transylvania, and their latest project: "A Gothic melodrama featuring vampires." She had asked Raoul to play the villain, and Raoul had enthusiastically agreed. It had all seemed so perfect: not only would he get to see Christine again, he would also be able to reinvent himself as an actor. Brilliant.

It was a shame Christine had playfully kept the identity of the villain a secret...

Now Raoul was playing the Phantom of the Opera, his one-time rival for Christine's affections. But the Phantom in this film was not exactly how Raoul remembered him. For example, he was sure the real Erik had never worn an evening suit which had sparkly buttons and nipples sewn onto it.

Now, after only a few hours of filming, Raoul was tired, frustrated, and completely disillusioned with the whole project. Any hope he had possessed of giving an Oscar-winning performance as a dignified, tragic villain had been crushed.

And, to make matters worse, no one had given him any attention for at least two minutes. It was more than a poor viscount could bear.

He sidled over to Christine. Perhaps she would cheer him up.

"Chistine?"

Christine was reapplying her make-up with the help of a small hand mirror. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes when she heard Raoul's voice. She really wasn't in the mood for yet another riveting conversation with her former husband.

"Yes, Raoul?"

"Christine, why do you want to ruin Erik's reputation? I know he hit Dracula over the head with a bin lid and everything, but surely that doesn't justify sewing nipples and sparkly buttons onto his costumes?"

Christine sighed impatiently. "Raoul, I thought I went through all this last night. Dracula sees Erik as a rival for his cinematic throne."

"Yes, yes. I can understand Dracula's motives. But I don't understand yours, Christine. Why are you mixing with these..." he paused for a moment, and looked around at the various creatures in the studio "...these people? Why do you want to destroy Erik? He seems a decent chap to me..."

Christine stared at him in disbelief. "He almost roasted you alive!"

"Yes, but he let us go in the end, didn't he? Can't we just let bygones be bygones?"

Christine gave him a pitying look. "Oh, Raoul. Poor, dear, sweet Raoul. You just don't understand, do you? Listen...after we parted, I tried to restart my career as an opera singer, but everywhere I went, everywhere I sang, people just said "Oh, that's Christine Daae! The Phantom's protégée!" or "Christine, will you sing 'Wishing You Where Somehow Here Again' for my wife? It's her favourite song!" or, worse still: "Hey, there's Sarah Brightman! Can I have your autograph, Ms. Brightman?" I live in Erik's shadow. You have no idea what that's like. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape from him. He's always with me..." Christine's voice softened. Her eyes seemed to glaze over. "Always with me..."

Raoul looked at Christine in bewilderment. She was staring straight at him, but she had a strange, faraway look in her eyes.

"Christine?"

Christine smiled warmly.

"My Angel..." she whispered, reaching forward to caress Raoul's Phantom mask.

Raoul flinched away, frightened by Christine's unusual behaviour.

"Christine? Christine! It's me! Don't you know who I am?"

Christine stared at him in confusion. Then she laughed.

"Of course I do. You're my Angel."

"No, Christine, I'm Raoul," said Raoul, removing the mask. "See?"

Christine stared at him. "Raoul..."

Raoul took her hand. "Yes, Christine. It's OK. I'm here..."

Christine looked at him strangely. Was it disappointment he saw in her eyes? Raoul wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it was soon replaced by anger, and he knew the spell was broken.

"He ruined me," Christine snapped, as though nothing strange had occurred. "Do you understand now, Raoul? Erik ruined me!"

"All right, calm down," said Raoul, distressed by the rising note of anger in her voice. "I understand, and I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Christine smiled at him. "Thank you, Raoul. You're a very special friend..."

She squeezed his hand, and their eyes met. For a moment Raoul was certain he saw the Christine he had known and loved behind her eyes: the gentle, sweet, naïve creature fleeing from a monster's obsession...

"Christine! My love! It's time for your next costume fitting!"

Christine lowered her eyes and turned away from Raoul. The moment had gone.

"Coming, Dracula!"

Raoul watched sadly as she hurried away. He was now very worried about Christine. True, she had always been a little...odd, but he hadn't seen her go into a trance like that since their time at the Opera House. Was it his Phantom costume that had triggered it?

She had been talking about Erik as though she hated him, and then...

Raoul shook his head in confusion. The Phantom had certainly exercised some strange hold over Christine. Was she still under Erik's power, even after all these years? Was she still afraid of him? Was that why she hated him so much?

But she didn't hate him, did she?

"No," said Christine simply.

"No, of course not...Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves. The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it..."

Raoul shuddered, and forced the memory away. He was fearful of the part he would have to play in this little drama, but he would endure it for Christine's sake. Then, when this monstrosity of a movie was complete, he would take Christine away. Away from Dracula, away from this godforsaken castle, away from all those insensitive Sarah Brightman fans, to a place where she could forget about Erik once and for all.

If that was possible.

--)--)--

Erik stared at the black expanse of water and shuddered.

"You can't be serious."

Angel grinned. "Of course I am! There's nothing like a nice swim in the lake on a hot summer's day!"

"But it's cold and dirty and quite possibly rat-infested!"

"Good! That'll add an element of excitement! Just think of it as an extreme sport!"

Erik sighed. "I'll just get my swimming trunks."

"Oh, you don't need swimming trunks."

Erik stared at Angel in disbelief. "I am not swimming naked, if that's what you're suggesting!"

"Of course not! I mean you can go swimming as you are!"

"Wearing my evening suit? It'll get soaked!"

Angel shrugged. "So what? It's an All-Purpose Evening Suit, suitable for all sorts of activities, including rope-climbing, Punjabing, and singing underwater! Oh, and that reminds me...you're going to need this," Angel thrust a long, hollow reed into Erik's hand.

Erik stared at the reed in disgust. "Can't I just do some press-ups? Or maybe we could go for a nice gentle jog around the park?"

"Don't worry, we'll do all that later. Besides, this is far more fun. Just dive in, you great Phantom-shaped wimp!"

And Angel, still fully clothed, dived headfirst into the water.

Erik waited for him to reappear.

He didn't.

"Angel?"

There was no reply.

"Angel, are you all right?"

Silence. Erik started to panic. He rushed down to the water's edge and peered out across the lake. To his horror, he saw Angel's dress coat floating on the black, forbidding surface.

"Angel! Oh, God, no..."

Suddenly, a pair of skeletal hands shot out of the water and curled around Erik's ankles. Erik lost his footing and, with a loud cry, he tumbled into the lake.

There was a huge 'splash,' followed by the roar of water in his ears. There was a moment of sheer panic and confusion, and then a hand seized his and pulled him up to the surface. He emerged, choking and gasping for air. Angel's grinning face appeared beside him in the water.

"What the hell...do you think...you're doing?" Erik spluttered furiously.

"Fooled you!" said Angel, laughing hysterically. "The classics never die!"

Erik glared at him. "You idiot!"

Angel grinned. "Oh, Erik! Lighten up! Have a little fun for once!"

"This is not my idea of fun!"

"Of course it is! Remember: you're the Phantom of the Opera!"

Erik sighed. "Am I likely to forget it?"

Angel ignored him. "Just play around for a bit. Let your hair down, for want of a better expression!"

Angel lowered his face under the water for a moment. Then he lifted his head up, pursed his lips, and fired a stream of water into Erik's face.

Erik lifted a hand to wipe the water away. Then, to his astonishment, he felt himself smile.

"You monster!" he growled. "I'm going to get you for that!"

Angel gave a giggling shriek, and started to swim away. Erik swam after him, caught hold of his dress shirt, and pulled him under the water. Angel fought his way to the surface, kicking and splashing with all his might. He managed to break free from Erik's grasp and Erik chased him around the lake, swimming as fast as he could with his clumsy butterfly stroke. But he was no match for Angel, who was built for speed rather than strength, and eventually Erik gave up the chase. He pulled himself up onto the bank, where he lay panting for breath.

Angel hoisted himself up beside Erik and sat down on the edge of the lake, his feet dangling in the water.

"There, you see? Wasn't that fun?"

Erik began to laugh. It was quiet at first, but it soon became a real rumbling belly-laugh, the sort which normally meant that the auditorium would soon need a new chandelier. Erik hadn't laughed so hard for years.

"Just you wait!" he laughed. "Just you wait until I'm fit, then I'll get you!"

Angel grinned. "That's the spirit! We'll have you swinging from the chandeliers in no time...What's the matter?"

Erik had got to his feet and was peering into the darkness beyond the lake.

"Did you hear something?"

Angel shook his head. "No."

"I thought I heard footsteps. Listen!"

This time Angel also heard the footsteps. They seemed to be directly in front of them, echoing along the passage leading to the lake.

"Who do you think it is?" Angel asked.

"I don't know."

The footsteps became increasingly loud and purposeful. Then they stopped abruptly.

A torch beam shone out across the lake, and Erik pulled Angel out of its path just in time.

"Hello?" said a nervous male voice. "Mr Phantom, sir?"

The torch moved across the surface of the lake again.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Angel gave a deep, menacing growl. Erik turned to look at him, and immediately backed away in fright.

Angel's eyes were blazing with fear and anger. His lips were curled into a snarl, revealing his jagged, yellow teeth. Every muscle in his body was tense, and his skeletal hands looked like claws in the dim light. He was like an enraged animal which was prepared to do anything to defend its lair. He reached into his jacket pocket, and Erik realised too late that he was about to attack.

"Angel! No!"

"Mr Phantom, sir? It's me..."

The Punjab Lasso flew through the air.

"...Charles Bloom, reportaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!"

There was a twanging sound, followed by a rather sickening thud.

And then there was silence.

Erik stared at Angel in shock.

"Angel?

"Yes, Erik?"

"Angel, I think you just killed a journalist. A journalist who I invited here. Myself. For a personal interview. This is not good."

Angel spread his hands philosophically. He was unnaturally calm now that the Punjab Lasso had done its work.

"Well, things could be worse, I suppose"

Erik exploded. "Things could be worse? Things could be WORSE?! You've just killed someone! In what way, exactly, could things be worse?"

Angel shrugged. "He could've stolen my doughnuts."


	11. Phantom Phanatics

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update! First it was my first term at university, and then I got swept up in all the excitement about the new Phantom movie, so you can blame those things for my failure to update sooner!

I had hoped to complete this story by the time the new movie was released, but since early last year this story has developed into a much more complex piece of writing than I'd initially thought, so there are still a few chapters to go. I hope it hasn't lost its appeal.

I'd like to say thank you to Cat for her motivating demands for this new chapter, and again to Olethros for posting the links on It was very much appreciated!

Artymas: You're making a spin-off comic? That sounds very interesting! If you can, please scan it and email it to me. (My email address is accessible from my profile page) I'd love to see it!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera' or 'Dracula.' The 'Phans' which appear in this chapter are not based on any real fans of 'The Phantom of the Opera,' so any shared personality traits or names are purely coincidental. Thank you for reading.

'The Price of Fame.'

Chapter Eleven: The Bizarre Behaviour of Phantom Phanatics

Erik took a deep, calming breath.

"So," he began, slowly. "Let me get this straight. You've just murdered a man in cold blood because you were afraid he would steal some circular sugary treats filled with strawberry jam?"

Angel looked down at the floor, suddenly ashamed.

"Well, that's not quite true. It was blackcurrant jam, actually…"

"Oh, that's all right, then," Erik replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Please don't be angry with me," Angel whimpered. "Where are you going?"

Erik had jumped into the lake and was swimming towards the opposite bank.

"We can't just leave the poor devil to rot on the edge of the lake, can we? Come on!"

The two Phantoms swam together in silence. Erik's mind was racing. A journalist had met his doom in the domain of the Phantom. What would people say? What would _Nadir _say? Erik shuddered as he imagined the inevitable lecture.

They reached the bank and hoisted themselves out of the water. Erik peered into the shadows around them.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"There's something not quite right about this."

"What?"

"Well, for a start, there doesn't appear to be a body."

Erik heard a voice beside his ear. He could not be sure exactly what it was saying, but it sounded like "Forgive me, O Great One."

Erik did not have much time to consider this because, half a second later, someone hit him on the head.

---)---)---

It was dark. Candles flickered in several large, black candelabras, casting a dim glow over the rest of the room, which, Erik realised, was also predominantly black. Whoever owned this room evidently had very little imagination when it came to choosing wallpaper.

They also had a terrible taste in beds.

Erik leapt out of the coffin with a cry of terror, almost causing it to fall off its dais. He had banished his coffin from his lair years ago, and the realisation that he had just been asleep in one made his stomach lurch.

He lifted a hand to his head, which was throbbing with agony. Someone had hit him, he remembered that much, at least. Someone had knocked him unconscious and brought him to this awful place. But why? And where was Angel? Surely he hadn't left Erik at the mercy of his unseen assailant?

"Angel?" he whimpered. "Are you there?"

There was no reply. Erik was alone.

Or was he?

Erik got to his feet hurriedly. Although he could not see a door, he could definitely hear footsteps approaching.

Footsteps and voices.

"I don't care what you say," said a female voice. "Lon Chaney is the best movie Phantom ever!"

"No he isn't!" said another, outraged female voice. "Charles Dance is!"

"Lon Chaney!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Lon Chaney!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Will you two shut up?" said a male voice, which sounded oddly familiar. "We've had this argument a hundred times before, and usually one of us ends up in hospital after being hit by a falling light bulb. And anyway, everyone knows that Robert Englund is the greatest Phantom ever to haunt the silver screen!"

_Oh God, _thought Erik. _Please don't let this be real. Please let it be a nightmare._

"How can you say that?"

"What nonsense!"

"Charles Dance!"

"Robert Englund!"

The voices were undoubtedly getting closer. His current panic overriding his revulsion, Erik climbed back into the coffin, closed his eyes, and feigned sleep.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing. The voices were now in the room.

"_Charles Dance!_"

"Shush! He's asleep. You'll wake him up."

There was a pause. Erik could feel their eyes upon him.

"Awwwwww…"said the female voice who obviously loved Charles Dance. "He's so cute! Look at his little face!"

"Are you sure he's the real Phantom?" said the other female voice.

"Of course he is!" said the male voice. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, he's a bit fat, for a start…"

"You didn't have to carry him out of the cellars!" said the male voice. "I think I've pulled a muscle in my back! Who would have thought that a man who lives underground and never eats anything could be so damn heavy?"

"Awww, leave him alone!" said the first female voice. "He's a sweetie! Anyway, who says the Phantom has to be thin?"

"Gaston Leroux, actually."

"Oh, you're such a purist! Who cares what old What's His Name…"

"Gaston Leroux."

"…Gaston Leroux says? He's a lovely cute Phantom! Can I cuddle him?"

"NO!" Erik screamed, opening his eyes and staring at the besotted female Phan in horror. "Keep away from me!"

The three Phans gazed at him in silent wonder. The young woman who had been about to horrifically cuddle Erik looked about sixteen, with brown eyes and short dark hair. The other woman appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long blonde hair and green eyes. The man was probably in his mid-twenties, with dark curly hair and a pale, handsome face.

All three of them were wearing Phantom sweatshirts and big grins.

Erik was both furious and terrified. He wanted to scream and rave at these lunatics until they let him go. He opened his mouth in order to do so, but unfortunately his courage failed him.

"Eeep," he said.

"Awwwww!" said the youngest Phan. "He's frightened! That's so cute!"

Erik stared at her and shuddered. There was something about this particular breed of Phan which had always baffled him. He suspected that, if he had said something along the lines of "If you do not let me go this instant, I will brutally murder you with a Punjab Lasso," this young Phan's reaction would have been pretty much the same.

"It's ok, Erik, don't be scared," said the other female Phan. "We won't hurt you."

"Of course we won't! We love you!"

"We are very honoured to have you in our humble abode," said the male Phan. "Would you care for a glass of wine?"

Erik shook his head.

"No? How about brandy?"

Erik shook his head.

"Lemonade?"

Erik shook his head.

"Organic carrot juice?"

"No!" Erik cried, his annoyance finally overcoming his fear.

"Well, how about something to eat then? I have some lovely chocolate chip cookies, or maybe you'd prefer something savoury? A sausage roll, perhaps?"

"I don't want a sausage roll!" Erik shouted, his temper finally exploding. "Where the hell am I? Who are you? What's going on?"

"Awwwwww! You're so adorable when you're angry and confused!" said the youngest Phan, reaching forward in another attempt to cuddle Erik. "My ickle tubby Ewiky-Wewiky-Phantomy-Kins!"

"Stop that!" said Erik, pushing the Phan away. "What do you want with me?"

"I want to cuddle you and give you all the love and affection which your mother and that horrible woman Christine never gave you and marry you and live happily ever after and make the music of the night on a regular basis and…awwwww! You're blushing! That is soooooooo cute!"

"Enough!" said Erik, whose cheeks had, indeed, turned a considerably darker shade of yellow. "I mean apart from all that!"

"There's a perfectly legitimate explanation for all this, Mr Phantom, sir, I promise," said the male Phan, politely. "But first, please allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Charles Bloom. I talked to you on the phone yesterday, and you have recently done me the great honour of trying to kill me with your Punjab Lasso. Not many Phans can say they've almost been killed by the Phantom of the Opera!"

He seemed to swell with pride.

"You're the journalist?" said Erik, bewildered. "The journalist I invited for an interview?"

"Yes, only I'm not really a journalist," said Charles Bloom. "I'm a founding member of the 'Save Erik From Evil Filmmakers, Directors, Reporters, Vampires, Former Love Interests, and Others Who Seek To Do Him Harm Campaign.'"

"Or the S.E.F.E.F.D.R.V.F.L.I.A.O.W.S.T.D.H.H.C., if you would prefer," said the older female Phan helpfully. "I find it easier to remember that way."

Erik looked at them both blankly.

"I decided to pretend to be a young, naïve, yet slightly annoying journalist because I thought you were more likely to grant an interview to a journalist than an obsessed Phan," Charles explained. "I pursued Mr. Frankenstein's Monster in the hope that he would call you and let me speak to you which, surprisingly, he did. I admit my cunning plan did backfire a little, but I don't blame you for trying to kill me in the light of recent events. Journalists can be a troublesome bunch."

"How did you escape the Punjab Lasso?" Erik asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, that was easy," said Charles, dismissively. "I had my hand at the level of my eyes."

"Of course," Erik sighed wearily. "I should have known." He turned to look at the two female Phans. "And you are…?"

"I am Michelle Dubois, Leroux expert," said the blonde-haired phan. "I am delighted to meet you, Monsieur Erik."

_But not too delighted to comment on my physique, _Erik thought, tentatively shaking Michelle's hand.

"And I'm Hermione Harris!" said the youngest Phan, grinning madly from ear to ear. "I love you!"

"Right," said Erik, unable to suppress a shudder. "Well, that's…good, I think. But why exactly have you brought me here? Where _is_ here come to that?"

"This is my apartment, just a couple of streets away from the Opera House" said Michelle. "We're using it as our top secret headquarters. Don't you just love the interior decoration? I prepared the coffin specially!"

"Er…yes," said Erik, manufacturing a smile. "It's very…nice. Thank you."

Michelle beamed.

"We've brought you here because we have something very important to tell you," said Charles.

"You could've just told me at the Opera House," said Erik, irritably. "Surely you didn't really need to sneak up behind me, knock me unconscious, and kidnap me for no apparent reason?"

"It was just a precaution, really," explained Charles. "When you tried to kill me, I naturally concluded that you weren't in the best of tempers, and that you had changed your mind about granting me an interview. But we really need to talk to you, so I decided to resort to desperate measures. I'm very sorry. I meant no disrespect."

Erik stared at him.

"But I didn't try to kill you. It was…" he broke off, realising that it might not be such a good idea to tell these Phans about Angel. "It was one of my numerous other personalities. Erik can be very violent at times, can't you, Erik?"

"Awwww!" said Hermione, delightedly. "He's talking in the third person! That's so cute!"

"It's all right, Erik," said Michelle, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. "We understand."

"Thank you," said Erik, keeping up the charade. "Erik is very grateful for your compassion. Now, what is it you want to tell him?"

Silence. The three Phans exchanged nervous glances.

"Well," Michelle began, "it's about Christine and Dracula, and the new movie they've just started shooting in Transylvania."

Erik remembered the letter he had found in Christine's handbag.

"You mean the vampire movie?"

"Yes," said Charles, darkly. "The vampire movie."

There was an ominous roll of thunder somewhere in the distance.

"I don't understand," said Erik, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. "What has that movie got to do with me?"

The three Phans exchanged more dark, knowing glances.

"Come into the living room," said Charles, finally. "And we'll tell you everything."

---)---)---

Upon entering Michelle's living room, Erik was suddenly overcome with agonised embarrassment. The room was a veritable museum of Phantom memorabilia. Posters from the stage musical and various film versions decorated the walls, and the bookshelves were lined with Phantom-related fiction of every possible genre, including copies of the original novel in several different languages. Masks, candles, and roses were also in abundance.

But it was the picture above the fireplace that caused Erik's face to turn bright crimson.

It was a huge, blown-up version of the infamous beach picture from 'The Trivia.' The Erik of three years ago was lying on his back, his well-defined muscles and flat, tight belly glistening in the sunlight. His skin was tanned, almost bronze in colour, and he was wearing his favourite swimming trunks: the ones with little scorpions and grasshoppers printed on them.

Erik stared at himself with horror, embarrassment and, to his immense surprise, jealousy.

"Hermione!" said Michelle, who was almost as embarrassed as Erik. "I thought I told _you_ to get rid of _your_ awful picture!"

"But that picture's not mine, it's…" Hermione broke off when she saw Michelle's pleading expression. "I mean…I'm sorry, I forgot!"

"I can't apologise enough, Erik!" said Michelle, laughing nervously. "You know what these crazed Phan-girls are like! _My_ interest in you, on the other hand, is purely academic! Ha ha!"

Erik sat down heavily on the sofa, suddenly feeling depressingly unattractive. He was grateful for the ridiculously large evening suit Angel had forced him to wear that morning; it didn't entirely conceal his plumpness, but at least it hid his wasted muscles.

_You idiot,_ he thought, staring wistfully at the picture._ Why did you ever stop going to the gym?_

"It's all right," said Erik, finally forcing a smile. "I've looked worse. Now, please can we get on with it? I want to go home."

Charles cleared his throat nervously.

"Well, it all started two weeks ago," he began. "We were in London with two of our friends, also Phans. We had just come out of the evening performance of Phantom at Her Majesty's. It was excellent, if I may say so. The best I've seen since 1995, when…"

"Do get to the point, Charles," said Michelle.

"All right, all right! Anyway, as I said, we were just leaving the theatre, when our two friends, Rose and Charlotte, decided to stop at the souvenir shop to buy some random Phantom-inspired merchandise. We wanted to go straight to the stage door, so they said they'd catch up with us. So we went to the stage door, met the cast, got our programmes signed, and waited around for Rose and Charlotte. We waited for about half an hour, but they didn't come. We started to get a little worried, because they had missed the Phantom leaving the theatre, which wasn't like them. We went to look in the foyer of the theatre, but it was all dark and shut up by then. We waited for another half an hour and looked around the surrounding streets, but there was still no sign. Michelle rang their mobiles, but there was no answer. Finally we phoned the police."

"And did they find them?" said Erik, who had to ask a question to prevent himself from nodding off.

"No," said Hermione. "We had no choice but to come back here and wait. We were out of our minds with worry, of course."

"Then, a few days ago, we received this letter," said Rose, handing Erik a crumpled piece of parchment.

Erik unfolded it slowly. Written in red ink, in familiar copperplate handwriting, was the following message:

**Dear Phantom Phans,**

**I am writing to reassure you that your friends are safe and well. They are taking part in a market research programme at Castle Dracula Studios in Transylvania. Their assistance with our current film project is proving invaluable.**

**Although they are taking part in this project on an entirely voluntary basis, I must ask you not to reveal their whereabouts to the police. **

**If any of you dare to disobey this command, a disaster beyond your imaginations will occur.**

**Your Obedient Servant, **

**Christine Daae.**

**P.S.: Please open the accompanying parcel with care. It contains a prototype of our principal piece of movie merchandise. Please accept it as our gift to you. Just play some music from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom, and watch it come to life. **

Erik read the letter several times, just to be sure that it was real and not some terrible hallucination conjured up by his troubled mind.

"She kidnapped them," said Michelle, darkly.

Erik scrunched the letter into a ball and threw it on the floor. Then he put his head in his hands.

"I don't understand," he said, after a moment. "Why would Christine write this? Why does she need Phans to research a vampire movie? And what was in this parcel?"

The three Phans turned to look at a small, innocent-looking box in the corner of the room. Erik followed their gaze.

"Something…unspeakable," said Michelle, shuddering.

"Dreadful," agreed Charles.

"Adorable," said Hermione.

The other two stared at her.

"But he was!" Hermione insisted. "Well, until his eyes started glowing…"

"Please could you just show me this mysterious object?" said Erik, impatiently.

Michelle nodded, and nervously approached the box. With shaking hands, she held up its contents.

Erik stared at it. It was a doll. A doll modelled on him. It had a little black cape, a golden waistcoat, a fedora and a white mask.

Michelle brought it over and placed it in his arms.

"That's…it?" said Erik. "It doesn't look very threatening."

"Appearances can be deceptive," said Charles, tremulously. "We believe it only works on Phans, but don't look in its eyes, just in case."

"Why?"

"Just trust me." Charles walked over to a stereo and pressed play.

The overture from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom filled the room. Puzzled, Erik looked down at the doll and saw that its eyes were, indeed, glowing.

"Don't look in its eyes!" yelled Charles.

But Erik was fascinated. He stared down at the doll as though mesmerised.

"I am Erik!" said the Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Doll. "You will obey my commands without question!" A pause. "You will forget about Joel Schumacher's film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera' completely, and devote all of your time and energy into publicising 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'"

Erik dropped the doll in disbelieving horror. It lay on the floor apparently unharmed, its eyes still glowing.

"You will go and see the movie at least one hundred times," continued the Hypno-Doll. "You will conclude that it is the greatest movie in the history of the universe."

"Turn the stereo off, Charles!" whimpered Michelle. "I can't stand it any longer!"

Charles did as instructed. The doll fell silent. The Phans uncovered their eyes and heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"That's monstrous," said Erik, shakily.

"I know," said Hermione. "It hypnotised me for hours. Charles and Michelle were more suspicious of it, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to try it out. It wore off eventually, of course. But not before I'd phoned everyone in my address book to tell them about 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera': The Greatest Movie in the History of the Universe. I even took all Michelle's Phantom posters down and replaced them with Dracula ones. It was horrible. And this is only a prototype! I wouldn't be surprised if they programmed the final version to hypnotise Phans permanently!"

"But why are they doing this?" Erik wailed. "I told Dracula years ago that I wasn't interested in making a stupid crossover movie! And they have the nerve to hypnotise my Phans into publicising it! Why?"

"So it can compete with Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom movie, presumably," said Charles. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out like this. But we thought it was better if we told you now, rather than waiting until these…" he glanced at the Hypno-Doll, "…_things_ are everywhere. Erik? Are you all right?"

Erik was currently frozen with shock. Something had just occurred to him. Something terrible.

Dracula was making this movie, and his arrogance and pride knew no bounds. He would inevitably be playing himself, the hero of the film.

Raoul was playing the villain.

The film was called 'Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera.'

This meant that…

"NOOO!!!" Erik cried, jumping several feet in the air. "This can't be happening! It can't! He's a fop! A _fop_! How _dare _they?!"

"Erik! Whatever's the matter?" said Michelle, rushing over to him. Hermione and Charles followed.

"I found a letter from Raoul to Christine," Erik sobbed. "He was accepting the part of the villain in this movie! That means he's playing the Phantom! The_ Phantom._ My rival with foppish clothes and foppish hair and foppish manners who can't sing a note of music but who won Christine anyway just because he's handsome and he rescued her fopping scarf from the fopping sea is playing _me_ in this new movie! This is part of Christine's plan. She's doing this to destroy my reputation and humiliate me. Well, Christine, I hope you're happy, because Erik has never felt so fopping humiliated in all his fopping life! Oh, Christine! Christine! Why? Why?!"

And Erik fell to his knees in a fit of grief and rage.

The three Phans stared at him.

"So," said Charles, after a moment. "I guess this means you're still a bit touchy about the whole 'fop' issue?"

Michelle glared at him.

"Are you sure about this, Erik?" she said. "We have no proof…"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Erik. "The evil Phantom doll, the letter, Christine's plan to destroy my reputation…it all fits. After all, would you root for me if I was played by Raoul?"

"Well," said Hermione. "That's…complicated. I suppose it would depend if I liked Raoul…which I don't, as a matter of fact. Sorry."

"See?" said Erik. "I'm ruined!"

"All right," said Michelle, gently. "Calm down. I'm sure there's something you can do."

"No," Erik sniffed, "There's nothing I can do. I can't fight Christine and Dracula. Christine's the love of my life, and regardless of what she's doing to me I can't bring myself to hurt her! And Dracula, well, he's a vampire!" Erik paused, and wiped the hot, angry tears from his face. "As for me, I'm just a man, an ugly, lonely man who enjoyed a little power for a while. I'm no one special."

"But…" Hermione began.

"Don't worry, Erik! I'll save you!" said a voice from the direction of the window.

Erik and the three Phans turned to look. Angel's upside-down face peered back at them from behind the glass. It was grinning.

"Angel!" Erik gasped. "What are you doing?"

"I'm rescuing you from these evil Phans, of course!" said Angel, brightly.

"Well, you certainly took your time," Erik muttered. "Thank you for leaving me unconscious in the cellars!"

"I'm sorry, Erik. But I decided that if we both got captured, there would be no one left to rescue you!" said Angel, with his special brand of Angelic Logic. "So I disappeared, and followed you here invisibly. But then I saw a bakery, and I said to myself "Angel, you can't go on a heroic rescue mission without an emergency supply of doughnuts!" so I stopped for a break. But I'm here now! Just sit tight, and I'll have you out of there in no time!"

And he produced a crowbar apparently out of thin air.

"No, Angel!" said Erik. "They're my friends! Please get down from there! You'll fall!"

"Nonsense!" said Angel. "I am the Phantom of the Opera! I can climb ropes and walk the tightrope, so hanging upside-down from a window ledge while holding a crowbar is absolutely no problem at arrrrrgggggghhhhhh!"

There was a dull thud.

Erik and the Phans exchanged shocked glances. Then they all ran downstairs and out the front door.

Angel was lying face down on the pavement.

"Angel," Erik whimpered, running to his side. He gazed down at the Phantom's still body, and felt fresh tears prick his eyes. "No…"

There was a groan.

"He's alive!" gasped Michelle.

Angel rose shakily to his feet and gave Erik a lopsided grin. Erik glanced up at the window. Surely it wasn't possible…

But of course it was. Angel was a fictional character, wasn't he? He was immortal. Erik wondered briefly whether _he _would survive if he fell three storeys onto solid concrete. He hoped he would never have the opportunity to find out.

"I think I've broken my nose," said Angel, dizzily.

Erik stared at him with joyous relief.

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't got a nose."

"Oh, that's all right, then," said Angel, cheerfully. He turned to smile at the Phans. "Now, why don't you introduce me to your friends?"


	12. The Return of the Phantom

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter. It's relatively short, but it sets the scene for the last few chapters of the story, which will be longer.

Bundles-o'-joy: Yes, I saw the new movie, and I absolutely love it! That's not going to influence my story in any way, though. If anything it just means I'll enjoy making fun of it even more (For some reason I enjoy making fun of the things I like). I loved all the characterisations in the movie, particularly Gerard's Phantom, but there are still things I would change, mostly slight plot-holes (For example, why on earth was the Phantom listening to Christine's first performance in the cellars when he had Box Five all to himself? And why did Christine use Carlotta's dressing room? More to the point: why on earth did the Phantom have a sliding two-way mirror installed in _Carlotta's_ _dressing room_? That's just strange…)

I'm going to see Phantom in London on Saturday! I'm so excited! (Just had to share!)

Anyway…

"The Price of Fame"

Chapter Twelve: The Return of the Phantom

The trio of Phans stared at Angel curiously. Angel grinned like a particularly happy skull.

"Angel, meet Michelle, Charles and Hermione. Professional Phantom Phans," said Erik wearily. "Phans, meet Angel. Angel is my past-self, who is apparently trying to save me from the evil schemes of Dracula and Christine. His hobbies include singing annoying pop songs and eating doughnuts."

There was a moment of silence.

"He's exactly like Leroux describes him!" whispered Michelle, nudging Charles excitedly. "He's so thin and corpse-like!"

"I bet I wouldn't injure my back carrying _him_ out of the cellars," agreed Charles.

"Awwwww…" said Hermione. "He's so cute!"

Angel blinked in surprise. "I…I am?"

"Of course you are!" said Hermione.

"I've never been called cute before," Angel sniffed, tears appearing in his eyes.

"Well, you are," said Hermione kindly. "You're adorable."

Angel and Hermione looked deep into each other's eyes. Imaginary fireworks exploded in the sky above them.

"Would you like…a doughnut?" said Angel weakly.

"I'd love one," said Hermione breathlessly.

"Strawberry or blackcurrant?"

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione. "As long as we're together."

An imaginary orchestra struck up an imaginary triumphant symphony in the background. Angel's eyes shone like stars.

"Ahem!" said Erik.

The musical firework display ceased abruptly.

"Yes, Erik?" said Hermione.

"Oh, don't mind _me_," said Erik irritably. "I'm obviously not skinny or pale or deathly enough to meet with your approval. You just carry on drooling over Don Juan here. Pay no heed to fat old Erik. It's not like he has _feelings _or anything…"

The three Phans stared at Erik. His head was bowed and his arms were folded across his stomach.

Angel's eyes glinted mischievously.

"What's the matter, Erik? Are you jealous?"

"No, of course not!" Erik replied. "I'm just a little upset, that's all. These Phans were trying to help me and then you appear on the scene and suddenly it's as though I'm invisible…"

"You _are _jealous!" said Angel, laughing.

Erik said nothing. He simply turned his back on Angel and the Phans, tears pricking his eyes.

"Oh, Erik," said Hermione. "We love you too!"

"Of course we do," said Michelle, patting Erik's shoulder. "And you're not fat. I didn't mean what I said earlier. You're not old, either. Please turn around."

Erik turned slowly. Angel and the Phans saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm…sorry…" he sobbed. "I'm such a cry-baby…lately. It's just the…the…shock, I'm sure…"

"What shock?" asked Angel.

Erik couldn't bring himself to answer. He covered his face with his hands.

"He has just found out that Dracula is making a new movie about him," Charles explained. "_Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera_."

Angel stared at Erik in bewilderment. "Is this true?"

"Yes," said Erik bitterly. "And guess who's playing the Phantom?"

"Tell me," Angel said.

Erik told him.

Angel's invisible pupils instantly burst into flames. Then he said a word not normally associated with polite, well-spoken nineteenth-century gentlemen.

"Well, really!" said Hermione, appalled. "There's no need to be offensive!"

Angel said another word not normally associated with polite, well-spoken nineteenth-century gentlemen. Then he reached inside a hidden pocket in his cloak, produced a Punjab Lasso, and set off down the street.

Erik ran after him and caught hold of a corner of his cloak.

"Where are you going?"

Angel rounded on Erik, his eyes blazing fiercely.

"Where do you think? I'm going to kill Raoul!"

"Oh no, you're not! Anyway, Raoul's in Transylvania!"

"Erik, I am _not_ going to stand by and let our reputation be destroyed by the World's Biggest Fop, and if that means going to Transylvania, then so be it! Now will you please let go of my cloak? I've got some serious Punjabing to do!"

Angel tried to pull away, but Erik ran in front of him and held him by the shoulders.

"Angel! Please control yourself! I want to kill Raoul too. I have wanted to kill Raoul on and off for well over a century! But I have always restrained myself because, to be perfectly honest, I don't think it would achieve anything…"

"Yes it would," Hermione piped up. "Raoul wouldn't exist any more. The world would be a much happier place."

"Would you please stop bashing Raoul?" pleaded Michelle. "He really hasn't done anything wrong…"

"Yes he has!" shrieked Hermione. "He stole Christine from Erik! And he's a fop."

"It isn't a crime to be a fop!" said Charles. "And he didn't steal Christine from Erik!"

"He did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Will you please shut up?" Erik roared. "You're giving me a headache!"

The Phans looked shamefacedly down at their toes.

"Sorry, Erik," they chorused.

Erik rolled his eyes, and turned back to Angel.

"Please, Angel. Just promise me you won't kill Raoul."

Angel stared at him curiously. "Why are you so violently opposed to the idea? I thought you hated him."

"I do," said Erik, uncertainly. "It's just because…because…" _Because Christine would never forgive me._ "…nothing. I just think it's unnecessary, that's all."

Angel sighed. "Very well. I promise I won't kill Raoul. But I'm still going to Transylvania."

Erik's mouth dropped open.

"Why?"

Angel smiled mysteriously.

"I have a plan."

-)-)-

"No," said Erik, ten minutes later, as the five of them sat drinking tea in Michelle's living room. "We can't do it. It won't work."

"Oh, come on, Erik!" said Angel. "It'll be fun!"

"But this is Dracula's Castle we're talking about here! It'll be impossible to break in! I've heard about some of the things he's got guarding the place, and they're not the sort of creatures you'd want to meet in a dark alley, let alone in Transylvania! What are we going to do? Walk straight up to the flesh-eating zombies and ask to be invited in for tea and biscuits?"

"Yes," Angel replied. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

Erik stared at him. "You're mad."

"It took you a while to work that one out!" laughed Angel.

"I still don't quite understand what you're planning to do..." said Michelle, puzzled.

"I'm proposing we try the oldest trick in the book," said Angel. "The good old Trojan Horse routine."

Erik and the Phans stared at him blankly.

"Listen," said Angel patiently. "We need to get into the castle without arousing suspicion, yes? Well, we travel to Transylvania, go to the nearest village in the middle of the night, and pretend to be vampires. We scare the villagers into giving us a horse and carriage and two coffins. You and I can hide in the coffins and drive to Dracula's Castle…"

"Hang on," said Erik. "If we're in the coffins, who's going to drive the carriage?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Angel. "We'll hire a man called Igor. There's bound to be at least one."

"I see," said Erik.

"Anyway, as I was saying…When we arrive at the castle, Dracula's servants will immediately think we have a right to be there. After all, we're asleep in our coffins, and there's a big impressive family crest painted on the carriage door, so we're quite obviously vampires. We could be Dracula's well-respected cousins from Manchester, for all they know. A major motion picture is in production, so there will no doubt be lots of vampires in Dracula's employ coming and going all the time. They'll let us straight into the stable yard and take our coffins down to one of the crypts. Then, when no one is about, we'll rise from our coffins and sabotage the movie."

"And how will we do that?"

"We'll make sure the Phantom is the victor in this little duel of theirs, if you understand my meaning."

There was an uneasy silence.

"I understand completely," said Erik, finally. "But I still don't like it."

Angel sighed.

"Do you care about your reputation, Erik?"

"You know I do, Angel."

"I don't believe you."

Erik stared at Angel in confusion. "Why?"

"If you really cared about your reputation, you would be more than happy to give my plan a try. If you were anything like the man you used to be, the man who was prepared to kill for love, you would be out there fighting for your pride and dignity!"

"Look, Angel," Erik sighed. "You may be perfectly happy to solve every problem with violence, but I'm not like that! I've _changed_, Angel. I'm no longer a monster. I'm perfectly harmless, and I just want to be left alone…"

"Give up, then!" Angel cried. "Crawl back into your dark hole and rot! See if I care!"

"Angel!" said Hermione. "Please don't be mean to Erik!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but he needs to be told," said Angel. "Erik, I'm sick and tired of you playing the pathetic victim! The Erik of 1881 wouldn't have let himself be defeated by a stuck-up old vampire, a dizzy little soprano and a fop with a bad haircut!"

"But that's precisely my point!" Erik cried, exasperated. "I'm not the Erik I was then! I'm the Erik I am now! _You're_ the Erik I was then! If I was the Erik I was then, _you _wouldn't be the Erik I'm not now!"

"I'm confused," said Michelle.

"So am I," said Charles.

"All right!" said Angel. "You've made your point. But if Erik won't do this, I'm sure _the Phantom_ will!"

"What do you mean?"

"Let the Phantom have his long overdue curtain call, then you can say goodbye to him forever, if you wish. And if the Phantom can't do this for himself, let him do it for his Phans. Please."

Erik looked at Angel curiously.

"You're saying that if anything goes wrong, Erik won't be responsible, because it'll be the Phantom's fault?"

"Exactly!"

"So if anyone just happens to get killed, Erik didn't do it. The Phantom did?"

"Yep."

Erik thought about this for a moment. Then, to his immense surprise, he smiled.

"Well?" said Angel.

Erik breathed deeply. Then he slowly walked over to the sofa, picked up his cloak, and draped it around his shoulders with a dramatic _swoosh_.

There was an awe-struck silence. Erik looked at Angel with a new and mischievous glint in his eye. Then he grinned.

"Oh, what the hell! I'll do it!"

"Hooray!" said Hermione, leaping into Erik's arms and hugging him tightly. Michelle and Charles applauded loudly.

Erik winked at Angel.

"The Phantom of the Opera has returned," he said simply.


	13. The Fearless Vampire Killers

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the lovely reviews! They make my day! I'm sorry I haven't updated in such a long time! I've posted a nice long chapter this time, which will hopefully make up for the delay.

Ae28: I actually tried to include other versions of the Phantom at one stage, but it got far too confusing for my poor little brain to take. But maybe I'll try writing a fic with several different versions in it in the future.

EriksLuv: Yes, I got the name Hermione from Harry Potter :) I don't read Harry Potter fanfic, though. I'm not very interested in it to tell you the truth (Though I do like the films). I just like Hermione because it seems a nice, unusual name.

Lizzie Black: Yes, I live in the UK. And I agree about the Eurovision Song Contest being terrible, but I think it should be preserved simply for comic value!

Elf Lover: Don't worry, I won't bash Raoul excessively. I don't actually think Raoul's a bad character or a "fop" personally. I just think, for the purposes of parody, that it's fun to reflect how many phans seem to view him. So yes, I guess it's both a joke and a stereotype.

Disclaimer: "The Phantom of the Opera" belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and others. "Dracula" belongs to Bram Stoker. Igor belongs to Terry Pratchett.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to John Owen-Jones, who recently ended his (extremely!) long run as the Phantom at Her Majesty's Theatre, London. His portrayal of Erik has provided me with a great deal of inspiration for this story. Thank you and best wishes, John!

It is also dedicated to Cat. I hope this chapter satisfies your craving…

'The Price of Fame.'

Chapter Thirteen: The Fearless Vampire Killers

Back in the lair, Nadir was worried about Erik.

This was, in fact, nothing out of the ordinary. Nadir had been worried about Erik for the past one-hundred-and-fifty-three years, and he wasn't going to stop now.

The Daroga sighed and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. He had arrived at the lair at five in the afternoon, in order to help move Erik's belongings into his apartment on the Rue de Rivoli. It was now after nine in the evening. Nadir had been waiting for Erik for over four hours.

Erik had given Nadir his own key to the lair many years before; a gesture which had touched Nadir greatly. Erik had not provided a real explanation for doing this, but Nadir suspected that, after Christine's departure, the Phantom had simply grown tired of being alone.

Since then, Nadir had visited Erik every day. They frequently ate their meals together and watched TV, and sometimes Nadir brought his DVD collection, much to Erik's dismay…

"_Oh, for heaven's sake, Daroga! I am not watching _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ again!"_

_Nadir gazed wistfully at the DVD's case. It had a sheep on it._

"_Oh, come on, Erik! You know you love it!"_

"_I do not!" Erik spat, waving a hand dismissively. "It's a chick-flick!"_

_Nadir looked at Erik pleadingly. "Please? You know it's my favourite!"_

"_No!"_

_Nadir sighed. It was time to resort to bribery…_

"_If you let me watch it, I'll order pizzas," he said._

_There was a moment of silence. Erik raised an eyebrow, his eyes suddenly shining with hope._

"_Can I have pineapple on mine?"_

"_Of course."_

"_It's a deal!" Erik said, taking Nadir's hand and shaking it vigorously._

Nadir smiled sadly at this insignificant little memory. That pizza, with its double helping of pineapple, had made Erik so happy. If only it was still that simple to bring joy and contentment to his heart…

Roughly three years previous to the present time, Erik had seemed perfectly happy. His celebrity status had apparently boosted his confidence, and his friendship with Frank and Dracula had given him a social life outside Nadir's company. But then, quite unexpectedly, Erik's fame had started to have a detrimental effect on him.

It began with the beach pictures. Erik had returned from his holiday in Spain in a state of great depression and anxiety. It was the first time journalists had taken advantage of him, the first photograph which had been taken without his prior consent…

"_Oh, Erik! Please don't cry!" said Nadir, hugging his distraught friend tightly. "It's actually quite a nice photo…"_

"_No it's not. It's horrible!" Erik sobbed, burying his face in Nadir's sleeve. "I'm bloated and disgusting! A corpse with muscles…ugh!"_

"_Of course you're not! Besides, I'm sure your female Phans adore that photo!"_

"_No, they don't! Have you actually read any of those letters?" Erik gestured towards the large pile of letters on the coffee table. "They hate how I look! They say I'm too muscular. I'm not corpse-like enough for them!"_

"_Nonsense!" said Nadir. "They're just being shallow! I'm sure your real Phans would love you no matter how you looked!"_

"_They don't love me," Erik whimpered. "They're in love with a fantasy, a dream, not a real man. They love the Phantom, not Erik."_

"_I think you're being a bit melodram…" Nadir began, but Erik silenced him with a look._

"_Don't you dare accuse me of overreacting, Daroga!" Erik cried. "It's not _your _body which has been splashed all over the papers! Well, if they don't like the way I look, so be it! Cancel my gym membership! And you can cancel my next appointment at the tanning salon, while you're at it."_

_Nadir stared at the angry Phantom in bewilderment. If Erik wanted to cancel his monthly appointment at the tanning salon, there was clearly something seriously wrong._

"_Are you sure?" _

_Erik collapsed onto the sofa with a deep sigh._

"_Just do it, Nadir."_

_There was a moment of silence. Finally Nadir spoke._

"_As you wish, old friend."_

"_Thank you," said Erik grumpily._

_Nadir paused at the living room door, and glanced sadly at Erik. He was sprawled inelegantly on the sofa, his eyes glued to the pile of letters on the coffee table. _

"_Erik?"_

"_Humph?"_

"_You know I care about you, don't you? It doesn't matter to me what other people say about you."_

"_Humph."_

Nadir blinked back tears. The memory of that awful day still saddened him. It had marked the beginning of Erik's decline, his retreat from this new, strange world of fame and glamour. In the following months, Erik had become increasingly shy and unsociable. The increasing number of Phans visiting the Opera House, along with the threat of eviction, had discouraged him from venturing above ground more often than was strictly necessary. His energy seemed to disappear, and he began to gain weight. Erik was aware of this, of course, and visibly ashamed, much to Nadir's surprise.

"_Nadir, I can't wear this."_

_Nadir stared at the imposing, scarlet-garbed figure in confusion._

"_But it's your favourite costume. You always wear it to masquerade balls. People expect you to go as Red Death."_

"_I don't care what people expect, Nadir. I'm still not wearing it."_

"_Why ever not?"_

_Erik gave his red velvet waistcoat a self-conscious tug._

"_Can't you see why?"_

_Nadir shook his head._

"_It makes me look huge," said Erik, quietly._

_Nadir laughed._

"_Well, it _is_ a Red Death costume. It's supposed to make you look large and imposing and scary. I thought you liked it that way."_

"_You don't understand," said Erik, sheepishly. "It's these trousers. And the stockings. _Especially_ the stockings…"_

"_What about the stockings?"_

_Erik threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. _

"_Oh, for heaven's sake, Nadir! What do I have to say to make you understand? I look fat in this costume! There, I've said it! Are you happy now?"_

_Nadir stared at him for a moment. Then he burst out laughing._

"_Well, I'm glad you find it funny!" Erik growled._

_Nadir wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Erik. That just sounded so out of character coming from you."_

"_But I'm right, aren't I?" said Erik sulkily. "Please be honest…"_

_Nadir studied Erik for a moment. "Well…"_

"_I knew it," Erik sighed, sinking down onto the bed._

"_Listen, Erik," said Nadir gently. "You've put on a little weight, that's true. But it's hardly noticeable. I've seen larger men than you wear that costume in the musical, and they look perfectly fine. If anything it makes them look more imposing. So why don't you just go and have fun? You know how much you'll enjoy scaring everyone to death."_

"_They're more likely to die of laughter," said Erik bitterly. "And I'm nothing like the Andrew Lloyd Webber Phantom! He can get away with being a bit plump. I can't."_

_Nadir opened his mouth to protest, but Erik silenced him with a gesture._

"_I'm not wearing this costume, Nadir. End of conversation."_

"_All right, but what are you going to go as?" said Nadir. "You haven't got any other Halloween costumes."_

_Erik shrugged. "Don't worry about that, Nadir. Just fetch me my cape and fedora. I'll go as The Phantom of the Opera." _

Erik's friendship with Dracula and Frank had been the only thing which seemed to cheer him. Frank was a sweet, gentle creature, who always treated Erik with a great amount of sensitivity. And as for Dracula…

During this difficult time, Dracula had been the only person capable of restoring Erik to something approaching his old self. Nadir had always been aware of the tense, unstable nature of their friendship, and he had never entirely approved of Dracula's presence in Erik's life. But the energetic spark of interest which appeared in Erik's eyes whenever Dracula spoke of his glamorous, nocturnal existence gladdened

Nadir's heart all the same. There was definitely something between them, a connection born of a love of the romantic, the mysterious, and, above all, the night.

Nadir shuddered, and his face contorted with anger. And now Dracula was trying to destroy Erik. One of the Phantom's dearest friends had betrayed him.

What sort of a friend did that? And as for Christine, well, her behaviour was inexcusable, as usual.

Damn her.

Nadir glanced at the clock again. Where _was _Erik? Had he gone on the rampage with that lunatic of an Angel? What if something terrible had happened?

Nadir's worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open. A strong smell reminiscent of Italian restaurants suddenly filled the lair.

"Garlic! Garlic!"

"When times are tough and grave!"

"Garlic! Garlic!"

"It's a remedy we crave!"

"Transylvania is scary…"

Nadir listened to the song in disbelief. One of the voices belonged to Angel. The other voice, a voice as smooth and rich and sensuous as melted chocolate, belonged to Erik.

Nadir was so surprised he almost fell out of his chair. For the first time in three years, Erik was _singing_.

Once upon a time, singing had been Erik's favourite activity. His voice, which could be likened to that of an angel or a particularly gifted devil, depending on his mood, had been widely regarded as one of the most stunning ever possessed by a human being. Erik had had no formal training, but none was necessary: singing came as natural to him as breathing.

But then, after the incident with the beach pictures, Erik had stopped singing. His voice had apparently disappeared along with his enthusiasm for life. He even refused to sing along to the karaoke machine. Of all the symptoms of Erik's depression, his refusal to sing had saddened Nadir the most. To hear him sing again (even if it was a song about garlic) filled Nadir with a myriad of overwhelming emotions. A solitary tear ran down his cheek.

Angel bounded into the room, followed by a rather dishevelled-looking Erik. They were both wearing long strings of garlic around their necks.

"Good evening, Daroga," said Erik pleasantly.

Nadir stared at him in silence. There was undoubtedly something _different _about Erik. His golden eyes glowed brightly in his pale yellow face. His portly frame, draped in its oversized, rather creased evening suit, seemed stronger and more erect than before. A strange power radiated from him. He positively reeked of darkness, charisma and, of course, garlic.

"Um," said Nadir.

Erik smiled charmingly. "Yes, Daroga?"

"Nothing. It's just that…you seem _different_." Nadir blushed, and decided to hide his true feelings behind a façade of anger and concern. "Where have you been? I was very worried!"

"You don't need to worry about me anymore, Nadir," said Erik, gently. "I'm absolutely fine. And anyway, Angel was with me most of the time."

Angel grinned evilly. Nadir stared at him.

"Yes, that's precisely what was worrying me," he said. "What have you been up to today? And why are you wearing half the garlic in France around your necks?"

"Well, Angel and I were swimming in the lake when this journalist turned up and hit me on the head," Erik began. "Bizarrely, however, he wasn't a journalist, but a Phan. He took me to the top secret head quarters of a certain campaign which aims to save me from various things, the name of which sadly escapes me. They communicated some information to me which they had received about the film that Dracula and Christine are making in Transylvania. It turns out that it's called "Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera," and Raoul's playing me. I was furious, of course. In fact, I'm still furious. I'm filled with murderous rage, no less! But I'm keeping deceptively calm because Angel and I are going to Transylvania in the morning to put a stop to it."

Nadir gaped at him. "You're _what_?"

"We're going to Transylvania to prevent them from completing the movie," Erik explained casually. "It's going to be a pretty dangerous expedition, with many close encounters with vampires, which is why we need the garlic…"

"And the stakes!" said Angel, reaching inside his doughnut sack and producing a particularly nasty specimen. "I sharpened them myself! We've got some nice big swords, too. And a year's supply of peanuts."

"Peanuts?" said Nadir, whose sense of reality was rapidly ebbing away.

"We can use them to distract Dracula," Erik explained.

"I…see," said Nadir carefully.

The two Phantoms stared at him, smiling sweetly.

"Well?" said Erik. "What do you think?"

Not for the first time in his life, Nadir suspected that his entire relationship with Erik was a very long and bizarre dream caused by too much rich food at one of the Shah's banquets. Soon he would be awoken by the squawk of the peacocks in the palace garden, and his greatest concern would be getting through the day without being arrested, poisoned, or assaulted by His Imperial Majesty's army of psychotic cats. He would certainly not have to deal with two crazy Phantoms who were suddenly obsessed with garlic.

No. This had to be real. Nadir knew that he simply did not have the imagination to dream up something like this.

"What do I _think_?" he murmured stupidly.

"Well, you usually have an opinion on everything I do," said Erik, rather grudgingly.

Nadir thought for a moment.

"I think you're mad," he said finally. "The managers are forcing you to move out, you've got crazy journalists and Phans following your every move, and now you want to run off to Transylvania to sabotage a movie?"

Erik and Angel nodded grimly. Nadir folded his arms and looked at Erik sternly.

"Well, you're not! I won't allow it!"

"Oh, come now, Daroga!" said Angel. "Don't be such a boring little twit!"

"Excuse me?" said Nadir, offended. "I'm not boring! I just don't want you to get into any more trouble, that's all! You're my responsibility, and I'm not going to sit at home worried sick while you go gallivanting around Transylvania pretending to be The Fearless Vampire Killers!"

"Then come with us!" Erik cried. "Come and keep an eye on us, if it'll stop you worrying!"

"But he'll spoil all the fun!" Angel exclaimed. "Ow!"

"Sorry," said Erik. "My elbow must've slipped. What Angel meant to say, Nadir, is that you'd be more than welcome to accompany us. An extra pair of hands will prove most useful, I'm sure."

Nadir considered this for a moment.

"Will there be any…cats?" he said, shuddering.

"No, but there's bound to be some wolves."

Nadir sighed with relief. "That's all right. I can deal with wolves. It's just cats that make my skin crawl." He paused. "Very well, I'll accompany you on this mad expedition. But no killing anything unless it's absolutely necessary, do you understand?"

"Yes, Nadir," said Erik brightly.

"Yes, Daroga," said Angel resentfully.

"Thank you," said Nadir, relieved. "Now, what are we going to do about the lair? The managers will be here to evict you tomorrow."

"We could just go and kill them," Angel suggested hopefully. "I've heard that stakes don't just kill vampires. Apparently they work on normal people, too."

"No!" said Nadir, shocked.

"The managers won't be a problem," said Erik. "The door of the lair will be locked, so there'll be nothing they can do until we get back."

"But what then?" said Nadir. "The chances are they'll be waiting for you on the doorstep!"

"I'm sure I'll be able to persuadethem to leave me alone," said Erik, smiling. "After all, what's the worst thing they can do to me? I'm the_ Phantom_, Nadir, and I won't let them forget it!"

Nadir opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by the intensity of Erik's fiery stare.

"I'll go and make some sandwiches for the journey, then," he mumbled lamely.

"Thank you, Nadir," said Erik cheerfully. "Just the one salad sandwich for me, please. And don't pack any chocolate biscuits. I want to be able to fit into my Red Death costume by Christmas."

"No chocolate biscuits," said Nadir. "Right."

Erik smiled to himself as Nadir hurried away to begin the preparations. The Daroga had remarked that Erik looked different. Well, Erik _felt _different, too. There was a power inside him that he had not truly felt since before Christine's departure. He was the Phantom. He could do _anything_.

"Come," he said, turning to Angel. "Let's climb up to the roof of the Opera. I want to sing beneath the stars."

)--)--

Dracula collapsed against a stone column in the castle's entrance hall, and wiped his mouth clumsily on his sleeve. He had had one too many again. He hadn't meant to, but there were so many beautiful young virgins in the nearby village that he simply could not stop himself. And he _was_ a vampire, after all. He had a reputation to maintain. It would be terrible to let the villagers down, after all the effort they put into protecting their homes from him every night. Some of the crucifixes were beautifully crafted, and the garlic was widely considered to be the best in Transylvania. The stakes were pretty damn good, too.

Dracula clutched at his head and moaned. It was just unfortunate that so many of the beautiful young virgins were partial to a beer or two…

A dark figure swam into his gaze.

"_Dracula!"_

The vampire groaned. _Christine._ She wouldn't be very pleased with him. She had made it only too clear that she didn't approve of his little midnight feasts. Oh, well. He just had to speak to her seductively and eloquently, and all would be well…

"'Ello, Christy! How're oo?"

"You've been drinking again!" Christine said, wrinkling her nose.

"I may 'ave 'ad a drop, yes, Christy! Unfortunatelely, I _think _it may 'ave 'ad a leetle alchihol in it. But don' you worry. Be fine by mornin'…"

"That's no excuse!" said Christine, sternly. "Dracula, I really think you should cut down on the blood."

Dracula looked up at Christine dizzily.

"Beg pardon, Christy?"

"I said I think you should cut down on the blood. A change of diet would do you good."

Dracula laughed.

"Christy, I can't change my diet! I'm a…a…you know, one of them…_things_…that drinks blood…"

"A vampire."

"Vam…pire! Yep! That's the one! Drinkin' blood is wha' I do."

"Well, I'm sure you could get by on less of it," Christine insisted. "Perhaps you could dilute it with ketchup or something."

Dracula sighed theatrically.

"Christy, Drac no like ket-chup. Drac drinks blood! If I don' drink enough I get old and my skin wrinkles up! And Christy would'nt like_ dat, _oh, nonono! NotChristy who likes smooth-skinned _Fop-Boy_!"

"Don't you _dare _bring Raoul into this!" Christine exclaimed. "He's got nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, no? He's been following you around like a doggie today, Christy! Him and his silly hair! I _told _him to chop it off! I _told him!_

"Oh, Drac! You really shouldn't be jealous of Raoul! He's just concerned about me, that's all!"

"Why?"

"How should I know? Probably because I'm in a relationship with a vampire!"

Dracula's eyes narrowed. His head was already beginning to clear in the fresh night air.

"Oooohhhh, _relationship, _eh?" he said, making an effort to speak more clearly. "Is _that _what you call it! We've been together for…how long? A year? And not even a bite! Why, Christine?"

Christine suddenly found that she could not meet the vampire's eyes.

"Don't you want us to be together forever, Christine?" Dracula continued, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I could turn you into a vampire this very minute, just say the word! Don't you want that?"

"Dracula…"

"Don't you love me? Is that it? Do you still love Fop-Boy?"

"No!"

"Well, then, what is it? It can't be Erik, surely? Silly Tubby Erik! You're not still in love with _him_?"

"_Of course not._"

"Well, then! What are we waiting for?"

"Listen, Dracula," Christine sighed. "I just want to wait until the time is right, that's all. When the movie's finished I'll consider it, I promise. But, for the moment, I just want to be left alone! Do you understand?"

Dracula looked at her sadly, the fire in his eyes dying. "Yes, Christine," he said, quietly. "I understand."

"I'm sorry, Dracula…"

"No, it's all right, Christine. I think I'll go to my coffin now. I'll see you in the evening."

Dracula morphed into a bat and flew rather dizzily down the stairs to the crypt. Christine watched him, and sighed deeply.

It wasn't that she didn't _care_ about Dracula; on the contrary, he had been very good to her. She almost hated herself for what she was about to do to him.

Almost, but not quite.

Christine made her way up to her apartment and opened the wardrobe door. Reaching inside, she removed one of the larger items of clothing, which was currently covered with a large sheet of material.

Smiling to herself, she laid the thing upon the bed and carefully removed the protective sheet, revealing thick layers of white satin and lace.

Dracula would hate her for this, she knew. But it didn't matter. He had served his purpose, and he would soon be out of her life for good.

Guilt, Christine had long since realised, was one of the most useless of emotions, and she wasn't going to start feeling guilty now. Dracula's feelings for her meant nothing. There was a shyer, chubbier, more _operatic_ prize to be won.

"Igor!"

Igor appeared inexplicably behind her. "Yeth, Marthter?"

Christine jumped, and spun around to face him.

"Oh, Igor! I wish you wouldn't do that!"

"Do what, Marthter?"

"Creep up on people like that!"

"Thorry, Marthter. It'th what Igorth do."

Christine rolled her eyes.

"I want you to listen very carefully to what I've got to say, Igor."

"Yeth, Marthter."

"I'm expecting a guest to arrive here shortly. It could be as early as tomorrow evening. I want you to take a carriage down to the nearest village and wait for him there. Then I want you to bring him to the castle. But I don't want him to know that I sent you. As far as he's concerned you're just a taxi driver. Do you understand, Igor?"

Igor looked at Christine curiously. "I think tho, Marthter. But what doeth this man look like?"

"He looks like a corpse, Igor. Like a _living_ corpse. But he's also quite chubby. He'll probably be wearing a black cape and a fedora, and quite possibly a mask. He should be very easy to spot."

"Yeth, Marther. I'm sure he will. I'll go and get the carriage ready."

Christine smiled.

"There's just one more thing, Igor."

"Yeth, Marthter?"

"You mustn't tell the Count about this, do you hear? It is extremely important that it's kept a secret."

Igor looked at Christine in a way which vaguely suggested surprise. "Don't tell the Marthter, Marthter?"

"No, Igor. And the same goes for anyone else in the castle. Including Monsieur de Chagny. Will you promise me this, Igor?"

Igor nodded grimly. "I promithe, Marthter. An Igor alwayth keepth hith word. You can count on that."

When Igor had shuffled away to prepare the carriage, Christine sat down on the bed and tried to calm her shaken nerves. This plan simply had to work. Failure, she knew, was not an option. She had waited for too long. Far too long…

She lovingly stroked the white silk of the wedding dress and smiled. Erik would come. She knew he would. The hypno-doll and the accompanying letter would serve as sufficient bait, and she had no doubt that he would come here with the intention of stopping the movie.

And, when he came, she would be waiting for him.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I would just like to mention a few things. The song Angel and Erik sing (Garlic, Garlic), is from "Dance of the Vampires." I found the lyrics on a site which archives musical scripts, so I hope they're correct (I wanted to use the German "Tanz" lyrics simply because I think "Knoblauch" (sp?) is such a great word, but I thought it would seem slightly bizarre if Angel and Erik started to sing randomly in German).

Also, Angel's joke about stakes working on normal people too was stolen from Terry Pratchett's "Carpe Jugulum." Forgive me, Mr Pratchett.

Oh, and "The Fearless Vampire Killers" is the title of a film by Roman Polanski. It is also the film which "Tanz der Vampire" is based on.

Finally, for anyone who is reading "The Locket," I'm really sorry for the wait. I've nearly finished it, and I'll hopefully update it next week after I've finished my horrible essay.


	14. The Home of All Things Garlic

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! Once again, I'm really sorry for the delay in posting this new chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!

My inspiration for this chapter owes a great deal to the musical 'Tanz der Vampire' by Jim Steinman and Michael Kunze, and Terry Pratchett's novel 'Carpe Jugulum.' I haven't actually seen 'Tanz der Vampire,' but I've read the script online and I also have the original soundtrack featuring Steve Barton, a beautiful recording which I highly recommend to anyone who likes musicals.

Tim Fortune: I like to think that my Christine is not _entirely_ evil…just bitter and vengeful. I do, however, get a guilty pleasure from seeing her give Erik a taste of his own medicine!

Pleading Eyes: Don't worry, you'll certainly get to see how the characters react to the movie. I don't think I could complete this story without showing Erik's reaction to Gerry-Phantom!

This chapter is dedicated to my squee-ers on phantomfans(dot)net. You know who you are!

'The Price of Fame'

Chapter Fourteen: The Home of All Things Garlic

The inn was small and dreary, but at least there were lights glowing in the windows. Erik, Angel and Nadir approached it warily, and looked up at the sign that swung back and forth in the wind with an appropriately spooky creaking sound. It had a large painting of a clove of garlic on it, accompanied by the words _The Jolly Good Garlic _rendered in large white letters.

For some reason, this made Nadir feel deeply uncomfortable.

"Let's just get out of here," he said, his voice shaking.

Erik dropped his rucksack with a sigh.

"We have to go in there, Nadir. We're lost. We have no transport. And we currently have some very angry villagers on our trail."

"So much for your plan!" Said Nadir, removing his burnt and blackened astrakhan hat and staring at Angel resentfully. "Mind you, I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, if you march into a sleepy little Transylvanian village and pretend to be a vampire, the occupants are just _guaranteed_ to give you a warm welcome! Literally."

"There was nothing wrong with my plan!" said Angel defensively. "How was I to know they'd have flamethrowers?"

"Now, now," said Erik, attempting to keep the peace. "It was an interesting plan, Angel, but I really don't think it was necessary or practical to pretend to be vampires. But I'm sure someone in there will lend us a carriage for the right price. Come on, I need a drink."

Retrieving his rucksack, Erik pushed the door open, and the three of them stepped cautiously inside.

A shocked silence greeted them. The inn's dozen or so inhabitants stared at them with wide eyes, their drinks suspended halfway to their mouths.

The self-appointed village idiot, who was in the process of eating a particularly large and pungent clove of garlic, recovered first.

"A stranger!" he cried, spraying a mouthful of the smelly vegetable across the room.

"Three strangers!" said a second villager.

"This is most unexpected and mysterious!" said a third.

"I wonder if they like garlic?" said a fourth.

"Don't be silly! Everyone likes garlic!"

"Yes!" everyone agreed. "Garlic is wonderful!"

Right on cue, a man sitting in the corner of the room began to sing a rowdy and extremely catchy drinking song that seemed to have garlic as its predominant subject. The other villagers enthusiastically joined in.

The two Phantoms and the cautious Daroga stood in the doorway and stared.

"Er…I think this means we're welcome to come in," said Erik, who was the first to recover from the culture shock. He strode determinedly towards the bar, ducking to avoid the large wreaths of garlic suspended from the ceiling.

The innkeeper looked up at him and smiled.

"Welcome to The Jolly Good Garlic," he said cheerfully. "The Home of All Things Garlic."

"Thanks," said Erik uncertainly.

"What can I get you, gentlemen? We have some lovely home-brewed garlic beer, and, if you're hungry, our extensive menu showcases a variety of local dishes, all specially prepared to order with our finest fresh garlic."

"I think I'll just have a coke," said Erik, eyeing the menu in disbelief.

"I'll have the same," said Angel quickly.

"Me too," said Nadir.

The innkeeper shrugged. "Please yourselves."

The three travellers retreated to a table in the corner, and sat down in relief. A moment later, the waitress brought a tray containing three cokes to the table. Erik noticed that each of the drinks had a small slice of garlic in it.

"Excuse me," he said, as the waitress turned to leave. "Is there a castle nearby? Castle Dracula?"

There was another shocked silence, which somehow managed to be rather more shocked than the first silence had been. It featured several jaws dropping to the floor.

The waitress laughed nervously.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her hand closing tellingly around her crucifix. "There's no such place here! There isn't even a supermarket here, kind sirs! Don't go near it! Promise me that you won't go near it!"

"What? The non-existent supermarket?"

"No! The castle!"

"I thought you said there wasn't a castle?" said Nadir.

"Yes! That's right! And you must stay away from it! Whatever you do, _don't go near the castle!"_

"Well, if there isn't a castle, I won't have any trouble avoiding it, will I?" Erik said, becoming frustrated. "Look, I'm sorry, but I think there's been a misunderstanding here…"

The innkeeper rolled his eyes and came to stand beside the impassioned waitress.

"Apologies, gentlemen," he said. "Magda here is on work experience and she still hasn't quite grasped the technicalities of the advertising campaign."

"Advertising campaign?" said Erik.

"Oh, yes," said the innkeeper, pulling another chair up to the table and sitting down. "You see, it's like this. Dracula pays us to tell visitors that there isn't a castle in the vicinity, so people will try to prove us wrong. Or, alternatively, we can warn people to stay away from the castle, so they will be even more determined to pay it a visit. _But we don't use both advertising methods at the same time!_" he hissed, glaring at Magda the waitress. "It's pure genius, really. After all, there's no better form of encouragement than telling people _not_ to do something. The Count likes tourists. They bring prosperity to the region, and they're prepared to buy lots of cheesy vampire-inspired merchandise."

"So there _is_ a castle near here?" said Nadir, who hadn't quite caught up.

"Oh, yes, two castles, in fact. There's Dracula's old castle, now known as The Creepy Castle Theme Park. And then there's his new castle, which is also used as a movie studio. It's just a few miles away, up in the mountains."

"That's the one we need to get to," said Erik.

"Well, I do hope you like it. It's surrounded by some very beautiful scenery. And the Count's a very hospitable gentleman, apparently. Sometimes people go to stay with him for one night and never come back!"

Nadir choked on his drink.

"Listen," said Erik, addressing the innkeeper. "My friends and I need to get to Castle Dracula as soon as possible. Do you know of anyone who would be kind enough to give us a lift?"

The innkeeper scowled and shook his head. "I don't think anyone would be prepared to travel up there in the dark," he said. "People tend not to travel at night in these parts, for obvious reasons. I'm sorry."

"I see," said Erik, staring moodily into his drink.

"Er…excuthe me, Marthterth…" said a voice. Erik looked up to see a small man limping slowly towards the table.

"It's our Igor!" said Angel, nudging Erik.

Igor arrived at the table and raised his deformed top hat in acknowledgement.

"Pardon me, but I could not help overhearing. Some of my brotherth and I have rethently ethtablithed a thmall taxi firm, and I would be very happy to take you to the cathtle," Igor paused for a moment, and attempted a friendly smile. "For a thmall charge, that ith."

"What did he say?" whispered Nadir.

"We're in luck," Erik replied. "He runs a taxi firm and he's offering us a lift." He turned back to Igor and smiled. "Thank you, Igor, we would be very grateful."

"Here, have some complimentary garlic for the journey," said the innkeeper, thrusting a small bag into Nadir's hands. "Have a good trip, and watch out for the wolves!"

Nadir stared at him in horror.

"Why? Are they fierce?"

"No, but they're very interesting."

The three friends followed Igor out of the inn to where a small carriage was parked up in the road. It was a perfectly ordinary carriage, with the words _Igor's Taxis _painted on the doors.

Nadir was the only one who noticed that the paint was still slightly wet, and this filled him with foreboding. However, as most things slightly out of the ordinary tended to have this effect on Nadir, he simply shrugged, and clambered into the carriage with the others.

)--)—

"Are we there yet?" said Angel, half an hour later.

Erik turned to glare at him.

"For the last time, no!"

An uneventful moment went by, marked only by the howl of a wolf somewhere in the distance.

"Are we there yet?" said Angel again.

This time, both Erik and Nadir turned to look at him simultaneously, wearing what can only be described as glares of death.

Angel smiled serenely back at them.

Nadir and Erik turned back to face the front.

Angel fidgeted restlessly on the back seat of the carriage.

"I'm bored. Does anyone fancy a singsong? I'll start. Ahem. 'One hundred thousand green bottles…hanging on the wall…'"

"Shut up!" said Erik and Nadir together.

"You don't fancy a singsong? Oh well. Why don't we play a game instead?"

"Can't you just enjoy the scenery, Angel?" said Nadir despairingly.

"I can't look out the window," said Angel cheerfully. "It gives me motion sickness. Now, what shall we play?"

"Actually, I just happen to have an excellent idea for a game!" said Erik, with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Ooh!" said Angel, clapping his hands together with joy. "What is it?"

"Well," said Erik patiently, "we have to see how long each of us can last without saying anything. You can go first, if you like, Angel."

"Oh, yes please!" said Angel happily.

"Right," said Erik, consulting his watch. "You have to be quiet, starting from…now!"

Angel instantly fell silent.

"Thank you," said Nadir, looking at Erik with admiration.

"Don't mention it," Erik replied.

"Here we are, Marthterth," said Igor, bringing the carriage to a stand still. "Cathtle Dracula."

The three travellers climbed out of the carriage and stared up at the immense building before them.

"It's very…big," said Nadir, stating the obvious.

"Yes," said Erik. "Very big indeed."

"And spooky," said Nadir.

"Yes," said Erik. "Very spooky."

"But the huge neon sign does rather spoil the effect," said Nadir.

The huge neon sign was mounted above the castle's entrance. It read: "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" The large neon words were contained in a large neon speech bubble, which was coming out of the mouth of a large neon vampire. It had long white fangs and glowing red eyes, and one of its hands was waving at them mechanically.

"That's _hideous_!" said Angel, unable to be silent any longer.

"Dreadful, ithn't it?" said Igor gloomily. "Apparently the Count had it put there becauthe he thought it looked cheerful and welcoming. It also thaves him the bother of coming to the door and welcoming all hith guethth perthonally. Pure lazinethth, if you athk me. Now, I'd better be going. Good night, Marththerth."

With that, Igor got back into the carriage and drove away, leaving the three companions standing in the blinking light of the monstrous sign.

"I always knew the man had no taste," said Erik, with the authority of someone who had once had his bedroom decorated like a funeral parlour.

"What do we do now?" asked Nadir.

"We do what the sign says, I suppose," said Erik.

Stepping forward, Erik raised the large brass door knocker and brought it down upon the wood with a loud _thud._

The door obligingly creaked open.

Erik peered into the shadows of the entrance hall. Predictably, there was no one there.

"Hello?" said Erik, half hoping that no one would reply.

No one did. Nadir and Angel followed Erik into the foyer.

"Good evening, Marthterth," said a voice behind them.

They all froze, and simultaneously spun around.

A strangely familiar Igor was limping towards them.

"Didn't you just drive us here?" said Erik, staring at him suspiciously.

"I may have done, Marthter," said Igor. "It'th hard to keep track. We Igorth are in many placeth at many timeth, often simultaneouthly."

"I see…" said Erik.

"Pleathe let me show you to your roomth, Marthterth," said Igor, limping towards a large staircase.

"Our roomth?" said Nadir.

"Why yeth. All our guethth are treated to bed and breakfatht. It'th the Count'th famouth hothpitality." Igor paused, and glanced at Erik's rucksack. "Oh, I almotht forgot. I need to carry out a thecurity check."

"Security check?" said Erik.

"Yeth! I need to check your bagth to thee if you have anything which could be potentially harmful to vampireth. Thorry. Thtandard procedure."

The three friends watched in despair as Igor opened Erik's rucksack and tipped the contents onto the floor.

Igor looked down at the collection of stakes, swords, peanuts and wreaths of garlic in obvious disgust.

"If I didn't know better, I would thuthpect you of being vampire slayerth," he said darkly.

"Us? Vampire slayers? Certainly not!" said Erik hurriedly. "We're on a sightseeing trip! We were given these at the nearby village. We could hardly refuse them, could we?"

"Maketh senth," said Igor, with a shrug. "I'll lock them in my office for thafe keeping. Now, what do we have here?" Igor opened Angel's sack. "Doughnutth?"

Angel nodded and smiled sweetly. "I like doughnuts," he said.

Igor seemed satisfied. "Please follow me, gentlemen."

The small party followed Igor up the grand staircase and along a corridor with numbered doors at either side.

"It's just like a hotel," Erik remarked.

"Yeth," said Igor casually. "The mountainth are very popular with tourithth. And we have our film crew and actorth to accommodate, of courthe," Igor stopped, and took a large bunch of keys from his pocket. "Here we are, gentlemen. Roomth sixteen, seventeen and eighteen. All en-thuite, with tea and coffee making facilitieth. Brekfatht ith at eight, but if you want a midnight thnack jutht call me. Ith there anything elthe I can get you?"

They shook their heads.

"Well, goodnight, Marthterth," said Igor. "I'll thee you in the morning."

"Thank you, Igor," said Erik.

The three companions watched Igor limp away.

"What are we going to do?" Nadir whispered.

Erik shrugged. "I don't think there's anything we can do just at present without arousing suspicion. Personally, I'm all in favour of a good night's sleep."

"But what if he tells Dracula that we're here?" hissed Nadir. "It's the middle of the night, he's probably hungry, and we have no weapons!"

"Here," said Angel, reaching inside his sack. "Take one of these."

Erik and Nadir stared at the small, circular and extremely sugary object in Angel's hand.

"It's a doughnut, Angel," said Erik irritably.

"Yes, but not just any doughnut!" said Angel. "Try it."

Erik took the proffered doughnut and bit into it cautiously.

Then he went pale, covered his mouth with his hands, and spat the half-chewed piece of doughnut into his palms.

"Ugh!" he exclaimed. "That's disgusting!"

"Doughnuts with garlic filling," said Angel proudly. "Guaranteed to repel all vampires!"

"Never mind vampires, they're enough to repel me!" said Erik. "But I must admit it was an ingenious idea, Angel."

"Yes, I am clever, aren't I?" said Angel, grinning. "Here, I've made some wreaths."

Angel handed Erik and Nadir a large wreath of doughnuts each.

"Thank you, Angel," said Nadir. "Surprisingly, this makes me feel a little better."

"Why don't we sleep now, and meet in this corridor at dawn?" said Erik. "Then we can decide what to do next."

Angel and Nadir agreed to this, and the three travellers retired to their respective rooms.

Upon entering his room, Erik was struck by how grand it was. A huge bed with silk sheets and an elaborate canopy dominated the room. The walls were decorated with old portraits and tapestries, and a large crystal chandelier was suspended from the ceiling. A door at one end of the room evidently led to the en-suite bathroom. There was also a wardrobe, an oriental screen, and a huge, full-length mirror. Strangely, there didn't seem to be any windows.

Erik didn't much care for the mirror, but he was pleased to meet the bed. Without bothering to remove his hiking boots, he flung himself down upon it and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"Are you very tired?" said a familiar voice.

Erik's eyes snapped open. He sprang from the bed and looked around the room in bewilderment.

"_Christine_?" he gasped in astonishment.

Christine laughed. The sound sent shivers up and down Erik's spine.

"Don't sound so surprised, my dearest Phantom! I have been anxiously expecting you."

"You…you have?" Erik stammered.

"Of course! You didn't really think you had gained access to the castle so easily without my help, did you? Well, congratulations, Erik! You have succeeded in walking right into my little trap!"

"_Your trap_?" said Erik, aghast. "You mean you _lured_ me here? The note you sent to the Phans…you actually wanted it to lead me here?"

"Erik's great genius shows itself once again!" said Christine mockingly. "Well done, my angel. You've finally worked it out!"

Erik shuddered. He didn't even want to think about the implications of Christine's words. Had she been planning to lead him here all along, ever since that dreadful night at The Black Rose? Why would she do such a thing? And what about the movie? Was the movie just one giant hoax designed to lure Erik to Transylvania?

Nothing made sense anymore. There were too many questions without answers.

"Where are you?" Erik whimpered.

"Follow the sound of my voice," said Christine, with a chuckle.

Erik did as instructed, and found himself staring at his own reflection in the huge, full-length mirror.

"You're hiding behind the mirror?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer to this question.

"Yes! Ironic, isn't it?"

"Can you see me?" Unfortunately, this was another question Erik already knew the answer to. He ran a hand self-consciously through his uncombed hair.

"Certainly! You're not the only one who's allowed to play with two-way mirrors, you know!" Christine paused for a moment. When she spoke again, there was a note of bitterness in her voice. "They're such fun, aren't they? You can watch a person's most private moments from behind a two-way mirror, can't you, Erik?"

"You think I used to watch you without your permission?" Erik said, blushing with embarrassment and anger. "That's nonsense, Christine! What do you think I am?"

"I believe you, dear Erik," said Christine, with a sinister chuckle.

"What do you want with me, Christine?" said Erik, sitting wearily upon the bed. "If you're doing this just to mock and humiliate me, then you're wasting your time…"

"Oh, but I'm not, dearest angel!" said Christine sweetly. "True, I've watched your recent humiliation at my hands with much pleasure. A dustbin lid! Priceless, really! But that was mere child's play, and I do believe the joke's starting to wear thin. No, I want far more from you, Erik. Far more than you can possibly imagine…"

Erik shuddered again. He had quite a good imagination, but Christine was the girl who had once mistaken _him _for her Angel of Music. Her imagination clearly far surpassed his.

"I don't have time for this," he said, his voice shaking despite his determination not to show fear.

He walked purposefully towards the door and tried the handle.

The door didn't open.

Erik tried the handle again, and then he tried his key.

The door still didn't open.

There was a noise behind him, and he realised with horror that it was Christine laughing. But it wasn't the cold, slightly sinister giggle which Erik had only just started to become accustomed to. It was terrible, dark, thunderous laughter which made up for in insanity what it lacked in true mirth. Erik recognised this type of laughter. It was just like his had once been, before Christine had rescued him from his own madness.

When he heard that terrible laugh, it made Erik certain of one thing: he had to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Nadir!" he cried, banging his fists against the door. "Angel!"

"They can't hear you, my dear Erik," laughed Christine.

Erik stared at the mirror wretchedly. "Why? Christine…_what have you done with them?_"

"Nothing yet. But I'll send some of my servants along to escort them to one of the more comfortable dungeons, just to be on the safe side. Now, why don't you stop taking your anger out on the door and get ready for dinner?"

Erik stopped striking the door and turned to look at the mirror in disbelief.

"_Dinner_?" he gasped. "You've taken me and my friends prisoner and now you're inviting me to _dinner_?"

"Why, yes!" said Christine, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "You must be very hungry after your long journey. And besides, if you would be so kind as to join me for dinner, I might just tell you what I want from you."

"Very well, Christine," Erik sighed. "I don't have any choice, do I?"

"No," said Christine. "I very much fear that you don't."

The voice fell silent for a moment, and Erik had the unnerving feeling that Christine was _thinking._ Experience had taught him that this was never a good thing.

"I must admit that I'm a bit disappointed in your choice of attire," Christine's voice resumed. "Jeans, a t-shirt and hiking boots are not really suitable for night-time dining. But not to worry. I've put something lovely in your wardrobe."

Erik turned to stare at the wardrobe. The wardrobe stared woodenly back at him.

"Well, go on, take a peek," said Christine impatiently.

Erik opened the wardrobe cautiously. Inside, suspended from a perfectly ordinary coat hanger, was the most hideous garment Erik had ever seen.

It was an evening suit, but not just any old evening suit. It seemed to be made entirely from black leather, apart from the dress shirt, which was white and lacy. The buttons on the waistcoat and jacket were large, red and sparkly. And, sewn onto the jacket, just under each lapel, were horrors so unspeakable that their very presence would give many a Phan nightmares if they were ever revealed to the world.

Artificial nipples.

Erik leapt away from the wardrobe with a scream, tripped over something, and fell over backwards. Dazed, he sat up and looked to see what he had fallen over. It turned out to be a pair of high-heeled boots made from the same leather as the evening suit. They had large sparkly red buckles on them.

"Isn't it charming?" said Christine, giggling. "Now, be a good Phantom and put it on."

Erik spun around to face the mirror.

"_What?_"

"Put it on," said Christine again.

"Christine, I can't wear that!" said Erik, deeply shaken. "Seriously, I don't look good in leather…"

"Erik! Put. It. On!" Christine growled.

Erik had never heard Christine growl before. Startled, he grabbed the evening suit and dived into the bathroom.

The suit, being leather, was very figure-hugging, and it took Erik ten minutes to squeeze himself into it. He put on the horrendous shoes, and reluctantly emerged from the bathroom.

"Hmmmm," Christine mused, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's a little tight around the belly…"

"It's a little tight everywhere," Erik panted, struggling to draw air into his lungs.

"Oh, well, it'll do, I suppose," Christine continued. "You'll find some accessories in the chest of drawers."

Erik stalked over to the chest of drawers, where he found a carefully folded leather cape, a pair of leather gloves, a leather fedora, and a leather mask. Moodily, he donned all four accessories.

"Happy now?" he growled.

"Perfect!" said Christine. "What a picture! Now, come over to the mirror."

Erik did as Christine commanded, staring at his chubby, leather-clad reflection in disgust.

"Are you ready?" Christine asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Erik replied.

"Then walk forward."

Erik walked forward until the length of his body was pressed against the mirror.

Then, dazzlingly, it turned, and he found himself on the other side of the wall.

Christine stepped out of the shadows and smiled at him.

"Welcome," she said.


	15. Curious Confessions

Author's Note: Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers! I hope you like this new chapter.

Cat: Yes, Erik should certainly be drinking Diet Coke. Naughty Erik! And there will be no leather Van Helsing outfits for Christine, I promise.

Disclaimer: Erik, Christine and Raoul were created by Gaston Leroux. Nadir also belongs to Gaston Leroux, except for his name, which belongs to Susan Kay. Angel was mainly created by Gaston Leroux but is now very much his own master. Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical version of _The Phantom of the Opera _belongs to…well, Andrew Lloyd Webber. Dracula was created by Bram Stoker.

Now on with the story! Please review!

'The Price of Fame'

Chapter Fifteen: The Curious Confessions of Christine Daaé

"Please sit down," said Christine, gesturing towards a chair at one end of a long dining table.

Erik sat down at his place and glanced warily around the room.

It was large and opulent, in a Traditional Vampire's Castle sort of way. Large brass candleholders held some impressively runny candles. A fire burned in a huge stone fireplace. Ancient tapestries and dingy family portraits adorned the walls.

The only contemporary items in the room were the movie posters. There was a series of them, hung in an ordered row above the great fireplace. Erik recognised them at once: they had all been used to advertise Dracula's past movies. He silently mouthed the titles: _Dracula, Dracula Returns, Dracula Strikes Back, The Revenge of Dracula, Dracula Forever _and, finally, _There's Just No Stopping This Dracula Guy, Is There?_

Shuddering at this vivid reminder of the distress and suffering which inferior horror sequels could cause unsuspecting cinema-goers, Erik turned his attention back to Christine.

She really did look stunning. Every inch the movie star and potential vampire bride, she was wearing a black silk evening gown trimmed with lace. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, with only two ruby-encrusted combs for decoration. She was also wearing an exquisite ruby necklace, the precious stones resembling specks of blood on the pale skin of her neck. Erik suspected that the necklace had been a gift from Dracula. It would be in keeping with his style. Erik shivered, wondering if _real _blood had ever been drawn from that tender white neck.

"Would you care for some wine?" said Christine, reaching for a bottle on the table.

Speechless, Erik simply nodded, and watched as Christine poured the rich red liquid into his glass.

"This is Dracula's finest vintage," she continued casually. "He never touches the stuff, of course, but he seems to enjoy purchasing bottles of wine. I suspect he does it because it helps him keep in touch with his human side. I think it's very important to maintain a connection with the mortal world regardless of one's circumstances, don't you agree, Erik?"

There was a note of contempt in Christine's voice which Erik decided it would be safer to ignore.

"All right, Christine," he sighed. "Tell me what you want."

"Oh, forget about that for the moment!" said Christine dismissively. "Let's have dinner first! Igor really is the most marvellous cook. Igor!"

"Yeth, Marthter?" said Igor, appearing behind Christine.

"Go and get the food, Igor."

"Yeth, Marthter."

Igor promptly vanished, and Christine turned back to Erik, a slight smile on her lips.

"You really have done well for yourself, you know, Erik," she said softly.

"Have I?" said Erik warily.

"Of course! You have everything one man could possibly desire…fame, fortune, the admiration of countless women…and yet you're not happy, are you? Not _entirely _happy, at any rate."

Erik took a sip of wine. "No, I suppose I'm not. But why is that relevant, exactly?"

"And I know _why_ you're not happy," Christine continued, ignoring him. "It's because you still don't possess the things which you truly desire: a normal life and the love of someone who truly accepts you for who – _what_ – you are," Christine paused, and heaved a deep, theatrical sigh. "I know exactly how you feel, dear Erik."

Erik stared at Christine with a puzzled expression. "What are you talking about, Christine? You've got Dracula!"

"Oh, _Dracula_," said Christine, waving a hand dismissively. "Well, he certainly does have some attractive qualities. He's very kind and generous towards me, and there's a certain mystery about him which I adore. But living with a vampire in a dingy castle in darkest Transylvania can hardly be considered _normal, _can it? No, I don't honestly think that Dracula and I have any real future together. He thinks otherwise, of course."

While Erik was staring at Christine in confusion, Igor returned, pushing a dumb waiter laden with food.

"Well, eat up!" said Christine cheerfully, as Igor served the meal. "It wouldn't do to let this wonderful food get cold, now, would it? Igor! You may leave us alone!"

Igor shuffled out of the room.

Erik looked down at his plate. It contained several large slices of beef and an assortment of vegetables. Despite his fear for his own safety and that of his friends, Erik could not ignore the fact that he was very hungry. The single salad sandwich he had permitted himself at lunch time had not done much to satiate his healthy appetite. Besides, he had been on a diet for over forty-eight hours. Surely he deserved a break by now?

He stuck his fork into a roast potato and lifted it to his mouth.

It was, Erik had to admit, a very good roast potato. He ate another.

"That's what I like to see!" said Christine. "A big, robust man enjoying his food! Keep going! There's plenty more where that came from!"

"There's something I don't quite understand, Christine," said Erik, between mouthfuls of roast potato. "If you really don't love Dracula, why are you still with him?"

"He's been very good to me," said Christine. "When we first met, my singing career was failing and I was extremely short of money. He brought me security. It was the thing I needed most, at the time…but not any longer.

"I've finally decided to listen to my heart, and the first thing I'm going to do is leave Dracula. I have a very good reason for doing so. You see, the person whom I truly love is in this very castle, and tomorrow I'm going to run away with him."

Erik was so shocked that he dropped his fork. "What? You don't mean Raoul? You're not still in love with Raoul, are you?"

"No!" said Christine. She shuddered. "God forbid!"

"Who, then?" said Erik.

Christine did not at first reply. Erik watched warily as she rose from her own chair and came to stand beside him. Then she went down on her knees and brought her mouth level with his right ear, like a schoolgirl about to tell a friend a secret.

"You," she whispered simply. "_I love you, Erik_."

At this point, any number of outrageously romantic or erotic things could have happened. For example, Christine could have thrown herself at Erik and kissed him passionately on the lips, causing his chair to tip over backwards and thus placing them in a very interesting and convenient position on the dining room floor.

Unfortunately, nothing of the kind happened.

Instead, Erik simply stared at Christine, dumbfounded, for a long time. Then, all of a sudden, he started to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" said Christine, bewildered.

"Nothing," Erik chuckled. "I just thought I heard you say you loved me! I must be going insane. No, that can't be right…I already _am_ insane!"

And Erik threw back his head and roared with hysterical laughter.

"You didn't imagine it, Erik," said Christine, grabbing Erik's hand. "It's the truth! I love you!"

Erik snatched his hand away violently. He felt faint, but he wasn't sure whether this was the result of the shock or a consequence of wearing the tight leather suit, which was just like wearing a corset.

"Not that I've ever worn a corset," he said aloud.

"Pardon?" said Christine, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing!" said Erik, getting to his feet and putting his hands on his hips in an attempt to appear dignified. "Listen Christine, I've had quite enough of your tricks! How can you lie to me about something so personal? How can you be so _cruel_? Surely you've humiliated me enough?"

"I'm not lying!" said Christine, also standing. "I love you, Erik, and I can prove it!"

As she said these last words, Christine ran over to a large wooden chest in one corner of the room. She quickly lifted the lid and gestured for Erik to come closer. Reluctantly, he obeyed, and peered cautiously inside.

Then he gasped audibly.

The chest was full to the brim with merchandise from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical version of _The Phantom of the Opera_: programmes, souvenir brochures, mugs, pens, key rings, sweatshirts, t-shirts, watches, perfume bottles, cigarette lighters, plastic half-masks, jewellery…apparently if it had the small white mask which served as the musical's logo on it, Christine had it.

Erik stared at the mass of merchandise in disbelief. Then he turned his head and stared at Christine with the same expression.

"Christine, what is all this…_stuff_?" he asked shakily.

"It's proof of how much I love you, Erik," Christine said simply. "I've seen the musical over a hundred times, in cities all over the world. I'm your biggest phan."

At the word 'phan,' unmistakably pronounced with a 'ph', Erik's eyes became so wide they looked ready to pop out of his head.

"Oh, don't stare at me like that, Erik!" said Christine, laughing. "Why are you so surprised? Even when I left with Raoul I was fond of you, and all the publicity surrounding the novel and the first movie brought you back to the front of my mind. But even then I was not really in love with you. No, that happened years later, when the musical opened…"

Here, Christine's eyes seemed to glaze over, and her voice became dreamy and distant.

"I remember the very moment I fell in love with you. It was the first time I ever saw the show, during _Angel of Music_, when you appeared behind the mirror. There was this wonderfully tense music, and then there you were, your dark figure shrouded in dry ice, your voice shaking the very rafters of the theatre! And then, a little later, when you sang _The Music of the Night_, I was certain that my heart no longer belonged to me! Oh, you were so romantic! The way you moved, the way you sang, the way you did the hand thing…"

"_Hand thing_?" said Erik in bewilderment.

"Yes! You know, the sexy hand thing which you do so well!" Christine bent her fingers and moved her hands in vague circles in an attempt to demonstrate. "At the end of the show, I watched myself leave you with tears in my eyes. It was then that I realised what a fool I had been. I should have stayed with you all those years ago, Erik! The musical showed me that the Phantom and Christine are meant to be together! I went into the musical an R/C shipper, and came out an E/C shipper! That was when I asked Raoul for a divorce."

Erik listened to Christine's impassioned tirade in horror. He could not deny the fact that one of his worst nightmares had become a reality…Christine had turned into a phan!

"Christine…" he said slowly. "You do know that the musical isn't real, don't you? It's just a show…a piece of entertainment…"

Christine looked at Erik strangely. "Of course I know it's not real! Do you think I'm insane? But the important thing is it _felt_ real. I lost my heart to the Phantom that night, Erik. It was then that I became determined to see you again.

"After I left Raoul I just drifted along for a while, going to see the musical whenever I could. As you can imagine, this drained my finances considerably. West End shows are wonderful, but ticket prices are appalling!"

"Yes," said Erik, wondering if he had finally lost his sanity. "I'm sure they are."

"I wanted to see you," Christine continued, "but I didn't dare go to the Opera House, because I wasn't at all sure how you would react when you saw me again. Then, about a year ago, I had the most incredible stroke of luck. I met Dracula at a performance of _Phantom_ in New York. I knew he was a friend of yours, because I remembered something I'd read in the paper about you helping him out when his castle was repossessed. We got talking and he asked me to accompany him for a drink after the show. Two weeks later he asked me to move in with him. I accepted, because we got on well and I thought that, if I stayed with him, I might see you again.

"A few months ago, Dracula and I heard about the new Phantom movie. Dracula was very worried. Despite his bravado, he can be a very insecure man. He suddenly saw you as a threat, a rival star of the Gothic genre. He read some of the director's remarks about having a sexy Phantom, and that scared him. After all, there's nothing like sex appeal when it comes to attracting new fans.

"Dracula's jealousy towards you presented me with a golden opportunity to finally get your attention. I knew that any threat to your silly pride would coax you out of hiding, so I encouraged Dracula to help me launch a smear campaign against you. I had originally hoped that Dracula would reveal the details of his terrible movie to the press, because I knew there was a very good chance that, upon hearing about it, you would come here with the intention of sabotaging the production. Unfortunately, Dracula decided that he wanted to keep the details of the movie secret, so I was forced to take advantage of three gullible little phans. They thought they were helping you when they showed you that letter, but instead they delivered their beloved Phantom straight into my hands! And now you're finally here with me."

Erik, who had been listening to Christine's confessions with attentive yet disbelieving ears, finally found the strength to speak.

"Christine, you say you love me, but you don't! You only think you do! If you really loved me you wouldn't be treating me like this! Your behaviour towards me these last few days has been appalling. You act as though you hate me!"

"I do hate you, Erik," said Christine coldly. "When you told our story to Gaston Leroux, you started something which you could not control. Now, as a consequence of your carelessness, I'm in love with a fictional character which barely resembles the frightening, corpse-faced lunatic who kidnapped me all those years ago. And I hate you for that, Erik. I hate you for cultivating an image which you cannot possibly hope to live up to. I hate you, Erik, because I can't help loving you!"

Christine wrung her hands in anguish. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Erik took a step towards her. Despite his distress, his heart was filled with pity for this beautiful, flawed young woman.

"Listen, Christine," he said softly. "I told our story to Gaston because I needed to tell _someone_. I just wanted to get it off my chest so I could attempt to get on with my life. I didn't want it to bring me fame and fortune! I didn't want it to give me sex appeal or bring you misery. I didn't want to appear in countless films, played by men more handsome and charismatic than myself. But none of those filmic Phantoms exist, Christine, and neither does the Andrew Lloyd Webber Phantom. Only I exist, and I'm very sorry that I can't be who you want me to be."

"I know," said Christine wistfully. Then her sadness suddenly vanished, to be instantly replaced by boundless enthusiasm. "But you could try! You've got almost the same personality as the Lloyd Webber Phantom. You'll just have to learn to be a bit more romantic, that's all, and I can teach you! As for your appearance, I know you've got the right sort of suits and wigs and sparkly capes. All you need to do is buy a nice half-mask and maybe lose ten pounds and you'll look just right!"

"It won't work, Christine!" Erik cried. "I'm the real Phantom! I can't pretend to be something I'm not just to please you! My God, don't you think I learned that the moment you tore my mask from my face? And, speaking of masks, my entire face is horribly disfigured, so I dare say a silly little half-mask would just look downright odd on me and_…what do you mean ten pounds_?"

"I'm just being honest, my angel," said Christine gently. "You are rather tubby, even compared to most Andrew Lloyd Webber Phantoms. Besides, you'll want to look nice for the wedding, won't you?"

"_Wedding_?" Erik exclaimed, almost jumping five feet in the air.

"Of course! You'll have to marry me after we've run away together! Otherwise it would just be pointless, wouldn't it?"

Erik sank into his dining chair and covered his face with his hands.

"I don't believe this, Christine," he said quietly. "You've publicly humiliated me, you've taken my friends prisoner…and now you're asking me to marry you?"

"Oh, I'm not asking you to marry me, my darling chubby cherub," said Christine. "I'm_ telling_ you to!"

"And why exactly would I follow your command, Christine?"

"Because you love me, Erik," said Christine simply.

"How do you know that for sure? Our _relationship_ - if it can truly be called that - was terminated a very long time ago. I'm a completely different person now. I could be in love with someone else, for all you know!"

"Who?" said Christine nastily, "Nadir?"

Erik blushed beneath his mask.

"Don't be absurd, Christine! You're mad! You're talking absolute nonsense!"

"I know you still love me," said Christine defiantly, "because you're still wearing my engagement ring!"

Erik glanced down at the plain gold band on his pinkie finger, and felt his face go hot with embarrassment. He folded his other hand over the ring, in a belated attempt to conceal it.

"I wear the ring because I have no choice, Christine!" he cried. "As you've so sensitively pointed out, I've become significantly portlier since we parted, and I can't get it off my fat finger! As soon as I lose the weight, I'm going to throw the damned thing into the crater of an active volcano! Then maybe you'll stop bothering me!"

Christine said nothing. Instead she walked over to the mantelpiece, picked up a little black velvet bag, and threw it at Erik's feet.

"Look in the bag, Erik," she said, "and tell me what you find."

Hesitantly, Erik bent down to retrieve the bag. Then he opened it cautiously and removed two small pieces of card. He stared at them in silence for a moment.

"Well?" said Christine. "What are they?"

"Two tickets for a flight to Las Vegas," said Erik. "Departing from Transylvania tomorrow evening," he paused. "I don't understand, Christine."

Christine resumed her place at the dining table.

"Well, it's like this, Erik. Tomorrow, Dracula will be filming the climactic scene of his terrible movie, in which the hideous Phantom, played by Raoul, kidnaps me from the very stage of the Opera House. But we're going to make sure Raoul is _unavailable_, so you can secretly take his place. That's the reason, incidentally, why you're wearing that horrendous suit. Then you'll kidnap me for real and take me to the airport. We'll fly to Las Vegas together, where we'll be hurriedly married amidst much rejoicing. Just wait until you see my wedding dress! It's exquisite! After the wedding, we'll settle down and start a new, happy life together. And, best of all, I'll be able to turn you into the Phantom of my dreams, the Phantom you should have been when you kidnapped me all those years ago! You could even have some plastic surgery to make you look more like the stage Phantom! You _can _change for me, my angel, and you _will_. Angel? Are you listening to me?"

In fact, Erik had been listening to Christine's every word, and his emotions were in turmoil. On the one hand, he had to admit that it all sounded quite attractive. Erik could not deny that the last few years had brought him nothing but distress and misery. This could be an opportunity for him to turn his life around. He could start again, with his beloved Christine by his side. After all, despite everything Christine had done, he _did_ still love her, didn't he?

But could he really marry a woman who was besotted with a romanticised, fictional version of himself? Could he bear to leave his opera house sanctuary behind? And what about Nadir and Angel? He would probably never see them again.

"I don't know, Christine," he said eventually.

Encouraged by Erik's uncertainty, Christine rose from her place at the dining table and came to stand behind his seated figure. She placed a gentle hand on his leather-clad shoulder. This time, Erik did not flinch away from her touch.

"Listen, Erik," she said softly. "You're not getting any younger…"

"I'm not getting any older, either," Erik pointed out.

"Perhaps not physically," Christine replied. "But when I look into your eyes I see a lonely, tired old man. I could be offering you your very last chance to be happy, Erik. If you reject me tonight, you'll go back to your little cellar where you'll grow increasingly fat, lonely and bitter. But if you marry me, I can guarantee that I'll make a new man out of you. _A very different man._ I'm giving you the chance to leave your sad existence behind, Erik. Why don't you accept it? All you have to do is kidnap me tomorrow. What have you got to lose?"

Erik knew that Christine had made a valid point. He had no doubt that this would be his last chance to find love, even if it _was_ a twisted kind of love.

He turned around in his chair, and looked straight into Christine's intense blue eyes.

"If I agree to do this, Christine, you must promise to let my friends go. And the two phans you kidnapped, too."

"I promise, Erik," said Christine. "And, if you need any more encouragement, I'm sure this will suffice."

With a quick gesture, Christine removed Erik's black leather mask. Then, before he could even react to this distressing exposure, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

The kiss was long and passionate and, due to Erik's lack of a nose, unusually elegant.

Erik was the one who finally broke the contact. For a moment he simply sat in his dining chair, shaking uncontrollably and touching his dry yellow lips with the tips of disbelieving fingers. A single tear rolled down his plump cheek.

"Oh," he said. It wasn't much, but it spoke volumes.

He realised hazily that Christine was on her knees before him. She took both his hands in hers, and squeezed them gently.

"Will you marry me, Erik?" she whispered.

Erik stared at her, his eyes burning with golden light, his large heart so swollen with love that it felt ready to burst.

He knew then that he would change for her. He would do whatever she wanted. He was completely under her spell.

_A poor dog ready to die for her…_

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Erik's mouth moved to form a single, silent word.

"Yes."


	16. The Most Symbolic of Dairy Products

Author's Note: Thank you to all my reviewers! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I'm pleased to announce that Angel and Nadir are back.

A note about Dracula: You'll notice that Dracula and his film crew are at work after the sun rises. This is because the original Dracula, unlike some other literary and cinematic vampires, can move about in the world by day. Therefore, all the vampires in my story are unaffected by the sun. I thought I'd better mention this because I'm aware that not everyone knows it.

A note about Van Helsing: I've based my Van Helsing's background and professions on the original character as created by Bram Stoker, but his physical appearance is taken from the film _Van Helsing, _written and directed by Stephen Sommers and starring Hugh Jackman in the title role. This is because…well, you'll see.

'The Price of Fame'

**Chapter Sixteen:** Cheese: The Most Symbolic of Dairy Products.

Meanwhile, Nadir Khan was completely oblivious to the little drama taking place within Christine's apartment. This probably had something to do with the fact that he was currently chained to the wall of a dark, damp and otherwise unpleasant dungeon in the depths of the castle.

Nadir knew something about dungeons. After all, he had once been the chief of the Shah's police. He also knew quite a bit about being a prisoner, because he had been incarcerated in a Persian jail for five years as a result of helping Erik to escape certain death. On the whole, Nadir found that he preferred locking other people up to being locked up by other people.

Nadir had survived those long years in jail by keeping on the right side of his guards and making polite conversation with his fellow prisoners, but something told him that this survival strategy would not help him much in the present circumstances. This was because, back in Persia, he had not had the misfortune to have Angel as a cellmate.

The Phantom was chained to the opposite wall, his yellow eyes glowing like two tiny torches in the darkness. Angel didn't like being chained up, but instead of keeping quiet like a good prisoner and reflecting upon what he had done (if anything), he was actually trying to cheer them both up, which annoyed Nadir immensely.

"I spy with my little eye," Angel began mysteriously, "something beginning with 'b'."

Nadir cringed. This so called "game" was worse than being slowly cooked alive in Erik's torture chamber.

"Banana?" he suggested wearily.

"Don't be silly, daroga!" sighed Angel. "I don't see any bananas in here, do you? The answer I was looking for was 'brick'! We're surrounded by them, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Oh, Angel, do shut up!" Nadir erupted. "I don't want to play your silly game!"

"I'm just trying to make the best of the situation," Angel grumbled resentfully.

"Well don't!" growled Nadir.

Angel was silent for a moment, and then: "Daroga?"

Nadir rolled his eyes. "What is it now?"

"I was just wondering…how exactly did we get here?"

Nadir thought for a moment. "How strange," he said, shuddering. "I really can't remember."

"Neither can I," said Angel darkly. "Odd, isn't it?"

"I can remember being in my bathroom," Nadir said thoughtfully. "I was looking in the mirror, and I saw this _thing _reflected there, standing behind me. I think it had glowing eyes. I spun around to face it and then everything went black. When I next opened my eyes I was chained up in here."

"That's strange," said Angel. "I can't remember any glowing eyes. One minute I was lying on my bed eating a doughnut, and the next I was in here."

"We must have been hypnotised," said Nadir.

"Perhaps it was one of those hypno-dolls Erik was telling us about."

"No," said Nadir, shaking his head. "The thing in my mirror was the size of a man. And I'm fairly certain it spoke to me. I can't remember what it said, but the voice sounded strangely familiar."

"There's something very odd about all this," said Angel, shuddering. "I almost feel as though…" he broke off, shaking his head from side to side.

"What is it?" said Nadir in concern.

"Nothing," said Angel hurriedly. "Just a bit of a headache, that's all. Perhaps you saw Dracula in the mirror? Vampires' eyes glow sometimes."

"Perhaps," said Nadir with a sigh. "Now please be quiet and let me think."

"Think about what?" said Angel curiously.

"About how we're going to get out of here, of course!" shouted Nadir.

Angel heaved an annoyed sigh. Then, with a careful and almost inhuman twist of his wrists, he smoothly slipped out of his manacles. He dropped gracefully to the stone floor and looked up at Nadir, who was staring at him with his mouth open.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" gasped Nadir, once he had recovered his powers of speech.

Angel shrugged. "Didn't feel like it. Anyway, it doesn't make any difference. We're still locked in here. I don't think we're going anywhere, unfortunately. Do you know any good ghost stories?"

"_What?"_

"Ghost stories. To pass the time."

Nadir groaned. "Look, Angel, just get me out of these manacles. Do you understand?"

"I can't," said Angel.

"Why not?"

"I haven't got the key!" Angel replied, his face breaking into a grin.

If Nadir's hands had been free, he would have strangled Angel at that precise moment. Instead, physically constrained as he was, he opened his mouth and prepared to give the Phantom a particularly large and unpleasant piece of his mind.

Luckily for Angel, a word did not pass Nadir's lips, because just then the door exploded.

This came as a surprise.

Nadir and Angel stared at the smoking hole in the wall where the heavy wooden door had just been. The figure of a man was standing in the opening, dramatically silhouetted against the brighter light in the passage beyond.

"Freeze!" said the man, striding forward. He was wearing a long leather overcoat and a broad-brimmed leather hat. He was also holding a very large gun in his hand.

"As you can see," said the man slowly, "this is a very large gun, and I need hardly tell you that it's loaded," he paused for a moment, moving ever closer to Nadir and Angel. "And you probably won't be surprised to hear that I haven't just got one gun. I have, in fact, got _two_ guns, and the other gun is also loaded. I also have a very clever device which shoots a dozen arrows simultaneously, some exceedingly sharp knives, and various things that blow up."

"Um…excuse me," said Nadir.

"And I also have a packed lunch consisting of a flask of tea, a packet of crisps, a banana and two peanut butter sandwiches, so if you know what's good for you, you'll do exactly as I say."

Nadir, who hated peanut butter with a passion, nodded hastily. Then he realised that the man was not addressing him, but Angel. The gun was pointing straight at the terrified Phantom's forehead.

"I…" Nadir began.

"Do not fear, noble Persian man," said the dark figure, in a weary voice which did not match the dramatic absurdity of his words. "I will save you from this evil noseless fiend."

"Please," said Nadir shakily. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here…"

"Nonsense!" bellowed the stranger. "I know an evil noseless fiend when I see one!"

"No!" said Nadir desperately. "Please don't shoot! He's my friend!"

The gun was lowered slightly.

"Friend?" breathed the stranger, as though this was a concept which was totally alien to him.

"Yes," said Nadir patiently.

The stranger's face fell.

"But I was going to rescue you," he said, a note of annoyance creeping into his tired voice. "I heard him playing that dreadful I Spy game and I thought he was torturing you."

"Well, he was," said Nadir, glancing at the scowling Angel. "But that's beside the point."

"You mean I broke down that door for nothing?" said the man, eyeing the wreckage sadly. "It was such a lovely door, too!"

"Er…yes, but you can still rescue us," said Nadir. He paused for a moment, and looked the stranger up and down. "Um…who are you?"

"I am the great Professor Abraham Gabriel Van Helsing!" boomed the stranger. "Scientist, philosopher, metaphysician, historian, lecturer, vampire expert and monster hunter. _Reluctant _monster hunter, I might add."

Then he bowed with tremendous dignity.

"Um…hi," said Nadir. "Er…pleased to meet you. I'm Nadir, and this is Angel."

"_Angel?"_ said Van Helsing in disbelief.

Angel nodded, smiling angelically.

Something suddenly occurred to Nadir. Van Helsing…now where had he heard that name before?

Then it dawned on him. He looked into the man's youthful, strong-featured face in astonishment.

"You're not _the_ Van Helsing?" he gasped. "The Van Helsing made famous by Bram Stoker's novel, sworn enemy of Dracula?"

"That's me," Van Helsing replied.

"But…but you're supposed to be _old_!" Nadir stammered.

Van Helsing frowned. Apparently Nadir had touched a raw nerve.

"I used to be," the monster hunter growled, "but then something terrible happened. You see, a few years ago Dracula and I were friends. We had finally settled our differences and agreed to let bygones be bygones. After all, what was the point in me wasting all that time and energy killing him when he was always going to find some way to come back?

"Anyway, Dracula asked me to co-star with him in a new film: _Dracula versus Van Helsing._ He offered to give me forty percent of the profits, and I agreed whole-heartedly. It's a hard life being a renowned scientist, and I was hungry for the glamorous life of a movie star.

"So Dracula wrote the screenplay and asked me to meet him back here at the castle so I could read it, which I did. But there were a lot of things in it which seemed very odd. For example, Van Helsing was described as being 'about thirty' with 'big muscles.' I was an old man and I'd never had big muscles in my life! So I said to Dracula: 'What's this? I don't have big muscles and I'm not thirty!' And he said…he said…" Here Van Helsing broke off, and covered his face with his hands. "He said 'I know, but this film is about a _new_ Van Helsing. A_ young and sexy _Van Helsing_!'"_

Angel gasped with horror.

"That's terrible!" said Nadir sympathetically.

"When I protested," Van Helsing continued, "Dracula strapped me to a table in his laboratory and injected me with a special anti-aging potion. It took thirty years off me. Literally. We never made the movie after that, of course, because I was so angry with Dracula! I've been stuck this way ever since. My career as a scientist was ruined, because no one believed that this young whipper-snapper with the big muscles was the great Van Helsing. Now I'm forced to make a miserable living killing monsters and rescuing badly-dressed princesses. It's no life for such a learned man! Oh, how I hate being an action hero!"

And Van Helsing began to sob.

Nadir stared at him, wondering what could possibly be so bad about being injected with a potion which made you young again. It sounded pretty good to him.

"Er…I'm sorry to interrupt, but aren't you going to get me out of these manacles?" he ventured finally.

"That's right!" said Van Helsing, glaring at Nadir through his tears. "Go ahead, ask poor Van Helsing to rescue you! After all, rescuing people is the only thing he's good for! No one cares about his brilliant mind, oh, no! To them, he's just a Super Hunk for Hire! Don't you even care about the dreadful tragedy of my existence?"

"Yes!" said Nadir hurriedly. "Of course I do! But I could be even more understanding and compassionate if you got me out of these manacles!"

Van Helsing wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Okay," he sniffed. "Have you any idea where the keys are?"

"Didn't the guards have them?" said Nadir, puzzled.

"There weren't any guards," replied Van Helsing. "I thought that was rather odd. Security never used to be so lax here. Oh well. I'm sure I've got something which will help."

Van Helsing reached into the pocket of his overcoat and produced a device which looked like a tiny electric saw. Little yellow sparks shot into the air as he carefully cut Nadir's manacles.

"Thank you," said Nadir, rubbing his sore wrists. "Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm here so I can finally confront Dracula and insist that he gives me the antidote to the potion!"

"You mean you _want_ to be old again?" said Angel.

"Yes!" Van Helsing boomed.

"Do you mind if we follow you?" said Nadir, hastily changing the subject. "We would really appreciate your help."

"Help?" said Van Helsing suspiciously.

"Yes. You see, we have reason to believe that our friend is in severe danger. I think Dracula has him."

"Oh," Van Helsing groaned. "You want me to help you rescue him, I suppose."

Nadir nodded.

"Very well," Van Helsing sighed. "I'll do what I can. But why do you think your friend's in danger?"

"I'll tell you on the way," said Nadir, already hurrying through the hole in the wall.

"The way to where?" said Van Helsing.

"I don't know!" said Nadir. "Come on!"

--)--)--

Dawn broke over the castle, bringing the cast and crew of _Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera_ back to their beds, coffins, and dog baskets (in the case of the werewolves) to catch an hour's sleep before filming began.

In the privacy of her bedroom, Christine added the final touches to her costume and makeup, and then studied her reflection at length in the mirror.

The costume she was required to wear for the penultimate scene of the movie was a typical Dracula creation. Designed to compliment the Phantom's costume, it was a dress with a black leather bodice, flowing red and gold skirts, and little sleeves of white lace which could be slipped off the shoulders at will. Her golden hair fell loosely down her back, and on her head she wore a tiara of battery-operated red and gold fairy lights. It was a beautifully ridiculous costume which perfectly suited Dracula's vision of the Phantom's own opera, _Don Juan!_

Finally satisfied with her appearance, Christine went into her private living room, where Erik was reclining on the sofa, absorbed in Dracula's lengthy screenplay.

"Good morning, my angel," she said brightly, coming to stand behind him and peering over his shoulder at the hefty document.

Erik did not look at her. Instead he continued to stare fixedly at the screenplay.

"Christine," he said eventually. "Why is there an exclamation mark after the title of my opera?"

"Oh, that!" said Christine, with a laugh. "It just makes it look cooler, that's all. Words always look cooler with exclamation marks after them, you know. Well, according to Dracula, anyway."

"And does shortening the title to _Don Juan!_ make it cooler too, Christine, or is it just because Dracula can't spell 'triumphant?'"

"Don't be mean, Erik," said Christine. "Dracula's a very good speller. And yes, it does make it cooler."

"But in this horrific screenplay, I'm not portrayed as being cool," said Erik logically. "So why would I write a cool opera?"

"Oh, that's the clever part!" said Christine. "You see, in this film the Phantom writes what he _thinks_ is a cool opera to impress Christine and show him that he's not just a boring stamp-obsessed maniac. But the opera isn't really cool. It's just the title which is cool. The opera itself is actually terribly cheesy."

"Ah," said Erik, with a soft sigh. "So that would explain why it says that the entire stage set is made from cheese. The cheese represents _cheesiness_, am I right?"

"No," said Christine patiently. "The cheese is a metaphor for the corruption of the Phantom's soul. If cheese is left alone for too long, it becomes mouldy and unpleasant, just like the Phantom. But if the damage is not too extreme, the mould can be scraped off the cheese with a knife, thus redeeming it and leaving it fit for consumption and enjoyment. Cheese, you see, is the most symbolic of dairy products."

"I…see," said Erik, even though he really didn't. "So the cheese represents my soul, the mould represents the corrupting power of loneliness, and the knife represents the redeeming power of love?"

"Exactly!" said Christine, patting him on the shoulder. This proved to be a mistake, because the gesture made Erik automatically turn to look at her, causing him to lay eyes on her costume for the first time.

"Christine," Erik said slowly, dreading her reply, "why exactly have you got fairy lights on your head? Are they a metaphor for something too?"

"No," said Christine. "They're just fairy lights."

"Oh," said Erik. He paused for a moment. "Christine?"

"Yes Erik?"

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Christine sat down next to him. "What's that?"

"Why do we have to fake a kidnapping? It does seem awfully complicated. You want to marry me and I want to marry you, so why don't we just leave now? We could take Igor's carriage and drive quietly away. We don't need to draw attention to ourselves, surely?"

"But that's exactly what I want, my dear angel!" said Christine, with a grin. "I want the whole world to know that you kidnapped me! That way, everyone will know how much you love me! Besides, a kidnapping is so much more convenient, because there are no awkward goodbyes before hand. You just spirit me away from under Dracula's nose, and neither of us have to explain ourselves to anyone!"

"Dracula," Erik said tremulously. "I had forgotten about him."

"You're not having second thoughts, are you Erik?" said Christine irritably. "You've kidnapped me before, and I'm sure you're more than capable of doing it again."

Erik nodded slowly. He knew that Christine was right. He did not say to her that it wasn't the abduction which worried him, but the inevitable pursuit. Vampires were notoriously good at hunting down their prey, and he knew that if Dracula was anything like him, he would not be forced to surrender the woman he loved as easily as Christine apparently expected.

Pushing this distressing thought away, Erik decided to ask Christine another question which had been preying on his mind.

"What are we going to do about Raoul?"

"Raoul won't be a problem," said Christine dismissively. "I had Igor slip some sleeping pills into his early morning cocoa. He should sleep through the entire thing, but I've taken the added precaution of getting Igor to chain him to his bed, just in case. And no one will miss him, because they'll simply be expecting a man dressed as the Phantom, and we're going to supply him!"

Christine retrieved Erik's full-faced black leather mask from the coffee table, and gently tied it in place. Unused to another person touching his face with tenderness, Erik initially stiffened, but then sighed contentedly and kissed Christine's fingers.

"You're fiendish, my dear," he chuckled.

"I know," said Christine. "I learned from a master. Now come on. It's time to go to the studio."

---)---)---

Castle Dracula Studios was a huge building, awe-inspiring and awful in equal measure. Positioned directly behind the castle on a convenient piece of flat land, it resembled a Gothic, gargoyle-ridden aircraft hanger.

Christine led the disguised Erik through candlelit corridors, past a suspicious-looking canteen called Café Igor, and finally onto Stage Six, an immense space containing a life-size replica of the Paris Opera House's auditorium and stage.

Erik gasped in astonishment as the extraordinary sight met his eyes. Gazing up at the red and gold tiers of the theatre, he was initially hit by a wave of homesickness which brought tears to his eyes.

But then, as he followed Christine down the isle between the rows of red velvet seats, he realised something was wrong. The theatre resembled the Palais Garnier, but, at the same time, it _wasn't_ the Palais Garnier. Erik couldn't quite put his finger on why it was different. Perhaps it had something to do with the row of blindfolded female nudes supporting the grand tier. Or the gilded skulls which smiled down at him from the front of each box. Or maybe even the various golden statues of Count Dracula that adorned the proscenium arch.

Erik stopped in his tracks, feeling nauseous.

"Christine…" he whimpered. "What has he done to my Opera House?"

"What do you mean?" said Christine.

Erik indicated a particularly large statue of Count Dracula. He had rubies for eyes and was clutching a swooning golden woman to his breast.

"Oh, that," said Christine, with an elegant little shrug. "It's Gothic, that's all."

"It's vulgar!" Erik growled. "I spend fourteen years of my life building the most beautiful Opera House in the world, and Dracula turns it into a chamber of horrors!"

"Hush!" said Christine sharply. "It's not supposed to be a replica of the real Opera House! It's a work of fantasy, to match a fantastical movie!"

"Oh, that's all right, then!" Erik spat, his eyes blazing. He glanced up at the point where the huge set disappeared into a sea of lights. "And where, may I ask, is the ceiling?"

"On Stage Five," said Christine. "They had to build the auditorium on two separate stages. Now be quiet, or Dracula will hear you!"

It was then that Erik noticed Dracula for the first time. He was standing on the Opera House's stage in front of a large platform constructed entirely from cheese, arguing animatedly with a young vampire who was clutching a clipboard protectively to his breast.

"You bumbling fool!" Dracula growled, reaching forward and snatching the clipboard from the hands of the terrified creature. "This isn't what I wanted! I ordered _real _cheese!" He stabbed the clipboard aggressively with his finger. "It says so right here! See? _Real_ _cheese!_"

"Please, sir," said the other vampire nervously. "It _is_ real cheese. The smell, if you'll forgive me for being so blunt, is a dead giveaway…"

"But it's not real cheese!" Dracula snarled. "Real cheese has holes in! You can't use un-holy cheese in a motion picture! It just isn't recognisable as cheese! Oh, I can't work in these conditions! Who employed these _amateurs_?"

"Er…you did, sir?" the vampire volunteered.

"Yes, well, I suppose it will have to do now," Dracula replied, eyeing the cheese resentfully.

"I could get some of the crew to punch holes in it for you, sir," suggested the young man hopefully.

Dracula's face lit up.

"That's brilliant! I can see you have a great future ahead of you! What's your name, my dear young fellow?"

"Lesley, sir," said the vampire, visibly swelling with pride.

"Lesley! I'll remember that name! Lesley!" Dracula gave Lesley a thump on the back which almost knocked him over. "Sorry, got to run! Let's have lunch sometime! Keep up the good work, Lenny!"

"Lesley, sir," repeated the vampire.

"Lenny, Lesley, whatever!" said Dracula, turning on his heel and stalking across the stage. "Now where are my Completely Unnecessary Backing Dancers?"

"Is he always like this?" whispered Erik, who had been watching this bizarre confrontation in grim fascination.

"No, thankfully," said Christine. "But he sometimes goes a little insane when the stress starts to get to him."

"A_ little_ insane?" breathed Erik, who considered himself an authority on the varying degrees of insanity.

Having located his Completely Unnecessary Backing Dancers, Dracula had jumped from the stage and was heading up the aisle towards them.

"Shush!" said Christine. "Here he comes! Now keep quiet and let me do the talking!"

Dracula grinned lopsidedly at Christine. Erik noticed that the dark hair beneath his red beret was uncombed, and his eyes were noticeably bloodshot despite the little round sunglasses he wore.

"Oh, Christine!" said Dracula desperately. "I'm so glad you're here! I'm at my wits' end! I've been up all night and I haven't had my coffee this morning!"

"Drac, you're always up all night," said Christine, taking his hand tenderly. "And you don't drink coffee."

"Oh, that's all right, then!" said Dracula, cheering up. "You always know just the right thing to say to make me feel better, my love. And, if I may say so, you look positively radiant this morning. Like a Christmas tree in spring!"

"You flatter me, my darling little bat out of hell," Christine replied.

Apparently this was one of the most beautiful things one could call a vampire, because Dracula immediately leaned forward and kissed Christine on the lips.

Erik watched them, an intense pain pricking his heart. Then Dracula appeared to notice him for the first time and abruptly broke the kiss.

"Raoul, my dear old chap!" he said, striding over to Erik and giving him an unmistakably aggressive thump on the back. "How are you this morning? The fat suit still looks wonderful, by the way!"

"_Fat suit?_" Erik growled in disbelief. Then, realising his mistake, he adopted a voice which sounded exactly like Raoul's. "Oh yes, the fat suit! Ha ha! It is rather good, isn't it?"

"It really was an ingenious idea of yours, Christine," said Dracula, smiling at his beloved in admiration. "He looks just like the real Erik! And, of course, there's no chance that the phans will ever take a fat Phantom seriously!"

Erik blinked back the hot tears of embarrassment which were suddenly pricking his eyes.

"No," he said, in his best Raoul-voice. "I'm sure they won't."

"Well, it looks like we're almost ready to go!" said Dracula, glancing up at the stage. "Now, Raoul, I want you to listen to me very carefully, because I don't want to have to keep repeating myself like I did yesterday. When the scene begins, Christine is going to stand centre stage and sing her aria, appropriately entitled _I Am Your Ideal Gothic Heroine– Take Me Now!_ Meanwhile, the Completely Unnecessary Backing Dancers – that's those fellows dressed in leather and holding the swan feathers – will dance their Completely Unnecessary Dance on the cheese platform.

"At the end of the song, you're going to swing onto the stage using a rope suspended from the flies. You will need to climb onto the platform in the right wing, where Igor will hand you the rope. Once on the stage, you will do one of your Completely Unnecessary But Undeniably Spectacular Cloak Twirls, grab Christine and disappear through the trapdoor centre stage. Have you got all that?"

Erik nodded. For the first time in his life, he found himself feeling sorry for Raoul. It must have been absolutely exhausting working for Dracula day after day. The poor fellow would be glad of a sleep-in.

"Jolly good!" said Dracula, with a satisfied grin. Then he picked up the megaphone from his director's chair and addressed the entire room. "Ladies and gentlemen! Please get into your positions! We're about to begin."

Erik and Christine climbed onto the stage. Before assuming her own position, Christine lingered for a moment with Erik in the shadows of the right wing.

"When we disappear through the trapdoor," she whispered, "I want you to follow me and do exactly as I say, understand?"

Erik nodded.

Christine gave a smile of satisfaction. "Good. Now are you ready, my angel?"

"I think so," Erik replied. He glanced up at the high platform where an Igor was waiting with the rope. "Er…I don't suppose this is a very good time to confess that I'm afraid of heights, is it?"

"Oh, Erik!" Christine gasped. "You're the Phantom of the Opera! How can you possibly be afraid of heights?"

"Well, there's always the chance that I'll fall from them, for a start," said Erik, who had started to shake from head to foot.

"Well, I can see that I've got my work cut out if I'm going to knock you into shape!" said Christine, laughing.

"It's not funny, Christine!" Erik hissed, blushing hotly beneath his mask.

"No," said Christine gently. "I'm sorry. But you can do this, Erik. I know you can. Do it for me."

Then, after glancing around quickly to ensure no one would see her, Christine planted a kiss on Erik's masked cheek.

"Do it for me, my angel," she repeated, and then turned away and stepped onto the stage.

Erik watched her go. Then, filled with a new sense of courage and determination, he climbed the ladder which led up to the platform and took the rope from Igor.

Far below him, on the stage, Christine's small figure stood in readiness. She glanced up at him, and, although he could not be sure from such a great height, he thought he saw her smile.

In the fake auditorium, Dracula sat down in his director's chair and turned to smile at Lesley the vampire, who was holding a clapper board in front of a large camera.

From his high vantage point, Erik watched as the clapper board announced not only the beginning of a take, but the beginning of a new and different life.


	17. An Ideal Gothic Heroine

Author's note: Thank you all for reading and writing me such lovely reviews! It has been far too long since I last updated. I've missed writing this, and it's nice to be working on it again!

Disclaimer: I don't own any daleks (which is a relief!). They belong to whoever owns _Doctor Who_.

Oh, and about the song: it's not meant to be sung to the tune of any existing song, but the last part was inspired by the end of 'Think of Me.' I also wrote the lyrics myself (I'm glad of that; if a professional lyricist had written them, I think it would be quite worrying for the music industry!). I'm quite proud of them, and I hope you all think they're as cheesy as I do!

Enjoy!

'The Price of Fame'

**Chapter Seventeen:** An Ideal Gothic Heroine

"Will this passage ever end?" moaned Angel. "I didn't need to travel all the way to Transylvania to walk through cellars. I can do that at home!"

"Oh, do stop moaning, Angel," grumbled Nadir. "This isn't a holiday."

"Perhaps it isn't to you!" replied Angel fiercely. "I, on the other hand, was hoping to spend most of my time here eating doughnuts and skiing. I packed my earmuffs specially! Really, daroga, you do take everything far too seriously. "

"And you don't take things seriously enough!" snapped Nadir. "Your friend…future-self…whatever he is could be in severe danger and all you can talk about is skiing!"

"And doughnuts," supplied Angel.

"And doughnuts!" agreed Nadir.

Just then Van Helsing, who had been striding quite confidently along the dark dungeon passageway, came to an abrupt halt.

"What are you…?" Nadir began, but Van Helsing waved him into silence.

"Shhhh!" he whispered. "Can you hear that?"

The three of them stood in silence, listening intently. The sound was coming from the passage ahead of them. It was a strange, mechanical noise which sounded unmistakably eager, like a clockwork toy which had just been wound up.

"It's getting closer!" hissed Van Helsing, flattening himself against the wall.

"Hold your hand at the level of your eyes!" said Nadir.

"Why?" said Van Helsing.

Nadir shrugged. "I find that it can always be relied upon in times of need."

"Listen!" said Angel. "It's saying something!"

The _thing_…whatever it was…was indeed saying something, and that something was a single word with four metallic syllables.

"Ex-term-in-ate! Ex-term-in-ate!"

"That's the voice I heard in my dressing room," whispered Nadir. "No wonder I thought it sounded familiar! It sounds almost like…"

"Like one of those things from _Doctor Who_!" Van Helsing finished for him. "One of those…thingamajigs… with a plunger and an egg whisk attached to the front."

"You mean a dalek?" said Angel, who knew more about popular culture than was probably healthy for a character from a classic novel. "It can't be! Why would there be a dalek in Dracula's castle? It would be incredibly random, you know, for a creature from a British sci-fi series to be dropped into our universe!"

"Stranger things have happened," Nadir mumbled.

"Where?" said Van Helsing.

"In fanfiction," said Nadir darkly.

All three of them shuddered.

At that moment, the _thing_ came into view. It didn't have an egg whisk or a plunger, but it did have a large bouquet of pink and white roses. The creature itself was human in shape and mostly white, and it moved stiffly, like a robot.

The _thing_ came to a halt, its head swivelling on its neck with an unpleasant whirring sound. It stared at its intended victims for a moment, its yellow eyes gleaming fiercely. Then it raised its bouquet in the general direction of Nadir.

"Ex-term-in-ate!"

Van Helsing pulled Nadir out of the way just as several roses shot out of the bouquet and flew through the air. They narrowly missed Nadir's arm and bounced off the stone wall. Seeing its failure, the thing adjusted the aim of its eccentric weapon and prepared to fire another round.

"Oh, no, you don't!" said Angel, reaching inside his cloak.

Nadir and Van Helsing watched in horror as a small brown object flew through the air and hit the creature squarely - or, rather, _roundly_ – between the eyes. A few sparks shot from the yellow pupils. Then it fell to the floor with a _thud_.

There was a moment of silence. Van Helsing, who had not even had time to aim his crossbow, stared at Angel with undisguised admiration.

"That was stunning," he said, in an awed whisper. "Where did you learn to use such a weapon?"

"At the bakery," said Angel, retrieving the doughnut from the floor and tucking it safely into the pocket of his evening jacket. Then he looked down at the still creature. "What is this thing, anyway? Is it some sort of robot?"

"Look!" said Van Helsing, kneeling down beside the body and indicating a stamp on the back of the figure's hand. Nadir and Angel peered down at it.

"The Marvellously Malevolent Mirror Bride™. Copyright Trick of the Siren Automatons, 2003. Made in France," read Nadir.

There was a moment of silence. Nadir and Angel exchanged glances.

"A killer Mirror Bride?" said Nadir. "That's sick!"

"What's a Mirror Bride?" asked Van Helsing.

"It's from a musical version of _The Phantom of the Opera_," replied Nadir. "It's a dummy of Christine wearing a wedding dress which the Phantom keeps behind a broken mirror in his lair, presumably for deep-rooted psychological reasons which I would rather not think about. At the end of one of the songs – _Music of the Night_ – it thrusts its arms through the mirror and makes Christine faint. It's actually quite creepy, especially if you have an irrational fear of department store mannequins," Nadir paused when he saw Angel start to grin. "Which I _don't_, of course," he added hastily.

"Well, regardless of what it is, I don't think it was trying to kill us," said Van Helsing, examining one of the roses. "I know a lot about weapons, and I'm pretty sure these things are tranquillizer darts. Someone wants to knock us out."

"That must be why we can't remember being brought to the dungeon," said Nadir. "This thing must have sneaked up behind us while we were in our rooms. I saw its yellow eyes reflected in my bathroom mirror, but it must have fired at me before I could react."

"Wait a minute," said Angel. "If it wasn't trying to kill us, why was it saying 'ex-term-in-ate'?"

"Who knows?" said Van Helsing. "Maybe the manufacturer just thought it sounded good. Either that or someone's really trying to scare us. No wonder they don't need any proper guards anymore when they've got that thing stalking the dungeons!"

"Come on," said Nadir, shuddering. "Let's get out of here. That thing might be just stunned, for all we know."

The three of them continued their progress along the passage. Eventually, to their immense relief, it led to a flight of stairs, which in turn led to a long corridor on the ground floor of the castle.

There were more numbered doors here, much like the doors to the rooms Igor had allocated to Erik, Angel and Nadir. However, while the décor in their corridor had been what one would expect from a Gothic castle, with faded hangings, torches and old portraits, this corridor was strangely modern. The walls were white-washed, the lighting was electric, and there were tasteful modern pictures hung at regular intervals along the walls.

"What is this place?" asked Nadir.

"This is the accommodation wing for Dracula's employees," said Van Helsing. "Actors and such. Although the creaky doors and cobwebs may seem attractive to the romantic visitor, they're rather unpleasant to live with for any length of time, and Dracula likes to keep his movie stars happy. I stayed in one of these rooms briefly, before the potion incident. They're fit for princes. Some of them have air-conditioned coffins, apparently. The strangest thing in my room was the bath. You could select what sort of liquid you wanted to bathe in, if you get my meaning. And you don't even want to know what was in the mini-bar. Suffice it to say that the jelly beans were alive."

There was no sign of life in the corridor. All the numbered doors were closed, and there wasn't even an Igor in the vicinity.

"It's quiet," said Van Helsing.

"Too quiet," said Angel.

"I was going to say that!" said Van Helsing irritably.

"I know," said Angel, grinning. "That's why I said it."

"Er…I say…um…help?"

All three of them froze. The voice - small, timid and scared - was apparently coming from behind the nearest door.

"I think there's someone in there!" said Nadir.

Van Helsing brought his mouth close to the door and said, in an authoritative tone: "Who's in there? Speak!"

"Raoul…de Chagny…"

"It's Raoul!" gasped Nadir.

"Let me at 'im!" said Angel, throwing himself at the door. Van Helsing, to whom the ability to react quickly was frequently life-saving, reached out and grabbed him by the arms.

"This is no time to dig up old grudges!" said Nadir sternly.

"It's not an old grudge!" growled Angel, his eyes blazing with fury. "He let himself be cast as the Phantom! He's poisoning my good name!"

Nadir rolled his eyes.

"Keep hold of him, Van Helsing," he said. "And don't let him strangle you." Then he turned back to the door. "Hold on, Raoul! It's me, Nadir!"

"The Persian?" said Raoul weakly.

"Yes, monsieur. Just sit tight. I'll get you out."

Nadir took hold of the doorknob and turned it. Not surprisingly, the door was locked. He looked to Van Helsing for help.

"I wouldn't normally suggest something like this, but can't you blow it up?"

"No!" said Van Helsing. "I'm not destroying any more rare antique doors today!"

"Of course, _I _could help, if you made it worth my while," said Angel. He had freed himself from Van Helsing's grasp and was now leaning casually against the wall, examining his fingernails as if they had suddenly become fascinating to him.

"What do you mean?" said Nadir. "You _came_ here to help!"

"I came here to help Erik, not de Chagny," said Angel patiently. "If I'm to sink so low as to help Raoul, I have the right to expect something in return."

"Oh, very well!" snapped Nadir, infuriated by Angel's business-like manner. "Out with it!"

"I'll get Raoul out if you promise to put in a good word for me with Hermione."

"Who's Hermione?" said Nadir, baffled.

Angel looked away.

"A Phan-girl," he said softly. "She's very sweet."

"You've developed a crush on a Phan-girl?" said Nadir, horrified. "Oh, Angel, what am I going to do with you?"

"Please, Nadir. If I introduce you to her when we get back home, will you…"Angel trailed off and blushed, "…ask her out for me?"

"Can't you ask her out yourself?" said Nadir.

"She might laugh at me!" said Angel. "Please, Nadir!"

Nadir sighed. "All right, all right. But if I do get you a date, you're to treat her nicely. There'll be no kidnapping, no mind games and no emotional blackmail of any kind. Do you understand?"

Angel literally jumped for joy. "Oh, Nadir! Thank you! I promise! And I'll buy her lots of candles! If there's one thing I've learned from the Lloyd-Webber Phantom, it's that you can't go wrong with candles!"

"Er…hello?" said Raoul's voice. "Mr Persian? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Hold on," said Nadir. "Go on, Angel."

Very slowly and deliberately, Angel removed a large key from an iron hook on the wall beside the door. He inserted it into the keyhole, turned it, and there was a tiny _click_. Then he turned to look at Nadir, who was staring at the iron hook in extreme annoyance.

"Sometimes you just have to use your eyes, my dear daroga," he said, grinning. "Things aren't always as complicated as you might expect, particularly when jailers are careless."

Nadir did not reply, so Angel carefully opened the door.

The room was quite nicely decorated, but this hardly mattered, because the collective attention of the monster hunter, the Phantom and the daroga was instantly drawn to the large four-poster bed in the centre of the room.

This probably had something to do with the fact that a half-naked Raoul de Chagny was currently chained to it.

Raoul stared at Angel in disbelief. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Damn you, Erik!" he cried furiously, struggling to free himself of the heavy chains. "You hateful beast! I'll kill you!"

"Now, now," said Angel, in an infuriatingly pleasant voice. "Let's not get personal, boy. I want to kill you too, but I think the daroga here might object. Nadir? Would you like to introduce me?"

"What?" said Raoul in bewilderment. "I already know who you are, monsieur, but I wish to God that I didn't!"

"Monsieur de Chagny, meet Monsieur Angel," said Nadir warily. "He's Erik's past, fictional self…I think."

"_Fictional?_" screamed Raoul. "He will be when I'm finished with him!"

"It's true, monsieur," said Angel. "I'm Erik as he used to be, and as he still is in the pages of the novel. This means that there are two Eriks! Isn't that simply delightful? There's a fictional Raoul as well, and I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that he's just as stupid and irritating as you!"

Nadir glanced at Raoul, and then at Angel. Both of them looked ready to explode. He decided it was time to intervene.

"Angel, go outside and stand guard."

"But I'm not finished with him!" growled Angel.

"Van Helsing?" said Nadir wearily.

Van Helsing gave a nod of understanding, took Angel by the collar of his dress shirt, and dragged him, kicking and struggling, out of the room. The door closed behind them.

There was a short, rather embarrassed silence.

"It is nice to see you again, Monsieur de Chagny," said Nadir.

"Is it?" moaned Raoul. "I would say the same about you if your very presence here didn't fill me with dread!"

"Who did this to you?" said Nadir, choosing to ignore Raoul's remark.

"That damned Igor! He brought me my cocoa a while ago, and it tasted really odd so I asked him to bring me some more. Then he went mad and started chaining me to the bed! Then I fell asleep for a while. I think the cocoa must have been drugged, so it was lucky I didn't drink much of it! I woke up when I heard your voices outside."

"Igor chained you up?" said Nadir in surprise.

"Yes. They're surprisingly strong. You really wouldn't want to pick a fight with an Igor."

"But why would Igor do such a thing?"

"Who knows? There's something very funny going on here, and to make matters worse I think she's finally lost her marbles!"

"Who's lost their marbles?" said Nadir, confused.

"Christine!"

"Did Christine actually have any marbles to start with?" said Nadir, before he could stop himself.

"How can you say that?" snapped Raoul. "You have no idea what I'm going through! Do you know how heartbreaking it is to see someone you care about totally lose their grip on reality?"

"Yes, Monsieur de Chagny," said Nadir, in a soft voice. "I think I do."

There was an appalled silence. Nadir lowered his eyes and swallowed hard.

"What makes you think that Christine's 'lost her marbles,' monsieur?" he asked eventually.

"She's never really got over what happened to her in the cellars of the Opera, and I can't say I blame her!" Raoul paused, and Nadir noticed that his eyes were brimming with tears. "Do you know why we got divorced? It was because she became obsessed with the stage show by Andrew Lloyd-What's-His-Name. She told me she couldn't stand all the publicity. She said it brought back too many bad memories. She said that the only way she could hope to rebuild her life was to start all over again, with no reminders of what happened back in 1881. That meant divorcing me, of course. I said I understood. I thought she just needed some time alone.

"When she invited me to star in Dracula's new movie, I actually hoped that we might be able to give it another go. But she's gone completely mad! One minute she curses Erik and says she wants to take terrible revenge on him, and the next she thinks _I'm _Erik just because I'm wearing a wretched mask! _And it's all that monster's fault! _To think that just the other day I was defending him! Well, that was before I saw how much damage he has done to her! She's still under his spell! I'm sure of it!"

"Now you listen to me, Monsieur de Chagny!" said Nadir angrily. "I've known Erik for many years, and I know for a fact that he is now entirely incapable of hurting Christine! Have you any idea what sort of state he was in when he came to me that night after he had let her go? I had to sit there and watch my powerful, arrogant friend reduced to a shaking, sobbing, heartbroken wreck! He nearly died so Christine could be happy with you, monsieur! Erik was indeed a monster. I used to call him that myself! But there's no monster there now, I promise you! He just wants to lead a peaceful life. He would never have gone near Christine if he hadn't met her the other day! After all, why would he? He doesn't need her anymore!"

"I think you're trying to reassure yourself, Nadir," said Raoul evenly. "You know only too well what Erik is capable of."

There was another uneasy silence. Nadir and Raoul eyed each other resentfully. One cannot experience a life or death situation with another person without getting to know their fears and weaknesses. Nadir was feeling rather disconcerted by the young man's ability to read his thoughts like an open book.

"Do you know where Christine is now?" he asked nervously.

"I was rather hoping _you_ would be able to tell _me_ that, monsieur," replied Raoul.

"I don't understand."

"Well, it seems a bit coincidental that you should turn up with that monster of yours just hours after I'm chained to my bed! _Fictional_, indeed! Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, I don't think you're stupid," said Nadir truthfully. "But Angel isn't Erik. Or, at least, he's not the Erik you seem to want to pick a fight with. He's a separate being. If you had looked more closely, Raoul, you would have noticed that he's a few dress-suit sizes thinner than Erik. And his facial expressions are consistently more manic."

Raoul looked alarmed. "So Erik's not with you?"

"No. He came to the castle with us, but we were separated. Angel and I were chained up in a dungeon until Van Helsing rescued us. I have no idea where Erik is."

"Does he know about the movie?" said Raoul.

"Yes. That's why we came here. He wanted to put a stop to it."

"What time is it?" Raoul demanded with sudden horror.

Nadir consulted his watch. "It's ten past six in the morning."

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" said Raoul. "I was due on set ten minutes ago! Dracula's going to kill me! Quick, help me out of these chains!"

Nadir called Van Helsing back into the room, and they freed Raoul from his chains using the monster hunter's little saw. Once free, Raoul sprang from the bed and rushed over to the wardrobe.

"Where's Angel?" Nadir asked.

"Still in the passage," said Van Helsing. "He's sulking."

"My costume's missing!" Raoul cried. He examined the contents of the wardrobe again. "Hmmm, that's odd…the fat suit's still here. I could have sworn I hung them up together…" Suddenly Raoul turned to look at Nadir, intense horror distorting his handsome features. "No! This can't be happening! It can't be!"

"What is it?" said Nadir.

"Don't you understand?" said Raoul, with mounting panic. "Someone's taken the Phantom's leather suit but they've left the fat suit! I've been chained to the bed, and Erik's missing!"

"I'm not following you," said Nadir.

"I need the fat suit to make me look like Erik, because I'm thin! It was Christine's idea! But Erik doesn't need the fat suit, because he's plump anyway! He only needed the costume, and only the costume's missing! Don't you see, Nadir? Erik must have ordered Igor to chain me up so he could take my place for the penultimate scene of the movie…the scene when the Phantom kidnaps Christine from the stage of the Opera House! He's going to try again, Nadir! He wants to take Christine from Dracula! And filming has already begun!_ We have to get to the studio!_"

Now it was Nadir's turn to look horrified.

"No…" he breathed. "No, he wouldn't…Erik wouldn't do such a terrible thing! Not now!"

"He would, Nadir! It all makes sense! But this time he won't get away with it. This time he'll be _sorry_!"

The threat contained in Raoul's last word was unmistakable.

"No!" Nadir cried. "_Please…"_

But Raoul was already running out of the room. Nadir and Van Helsing followed him. Angel was still standing outside the door. Nadir grabbed him by the arm.

"What's going on?" he said.

"No time to explain!" said Nadir. "Hurry!"

_Oh, Erik…_he thought, as they ran through a seemingly endless maze of corridors. _Please, old friend, don't do anything stupid…_

---)---)---

It is a sad fact of life that there are some appallingly bad songs in the world, and Erik, as a survivor of every Eurovision Song Contest, had had the dubious pleasure of hearing a fine selection of these insults to the human ear. In fact, he secretly prided himself on his ability to recognise a truly bad song when he heard one.

The operatic aria which Christine was singing now wasn't the _worst_ song Erik had ever heard, but he had to admit that it ranked somewhere in his personal top five.

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine._

_I like candles, masks and roses._

_I love midnight serenades_

_More than any man supposes…_

_And when you drag me through your mirror_

_I swear I'll shout "hooray!"_

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine…_

_Kidnap me today!_

Up on his high platform, Erik cringed with embarrassment at this insulting misuse of his protégé's beautiful voice. Christine, however, was apparently unfazed. She danced around the stage of Dracula's fake opera house, moving gracefully in time with the music.

She paused briefly centre stage, and blew a kiss to the camera.

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine._

_I love Phantoms, but hate fops._

_I'll save you from the angry mob_

_And help you hide from cops._

Erik stepped closer to the edge of the platform. Actually, this wasn't so bad…

_And when you drop a chandelier_

_I swear I won't shout "Nooooo!"_

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine…_

_Never let me go!_

This was followed by an inappropriately jazzy musical interlude. Erik watched in disbelief as the Completely Unnecessary Backing Dancers came down from their Completely Unnecessary Cheesy Platform and danced around Christine, waving their bright pink swan and ostrich feathers.

Christine ignored them, as if men dressed in leather and waving bright pink feathers was something she had to deal with on a daily basis. Eventually, to Erik's immense relief, they danced offstage, leaving Christine alone in a spotlight.

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine_

_And I know you will agree:_

_You're an ugly spook in evening dress,_

_But you're the one for me!_

_And when I see your noseless face_

_I won't swoon, but say "Wow!"_

_I'm your ideal Gothic heroine…_

_Please say you'll take me now!_

Erik clutched at the rope in readiness. Despite his unexpected fascination with this outrageous spectacle, he could not afford to miss his cue.

_Yes, I'm your ideal Gothic heroine:_

_Say…you'll… take… me…_

Erik prepared to jump. But Christine was not yet finished. She drew a silk scarf from some hidden pocket in her dress, and draped it around her bare shoulders.

_Ah ah ah ah ah ah ahhhhh!_

_Ah ah ah ah ah ah ahhhhh! _

_Ah- ah ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah ahhhh ahhhh ahhhh_

_AaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHH_

_NOW!_

Christine flung the scarf onto the stage and then dropped to her knees beside it. Then she bowed her head.

Strangely, this had an air of finality about it. Erik grasped the rope tightly.

For some unknown reason, the ability to swing dramatically on ropes is widely considered to be one of the Phantom of the Opera's many talents. With a few exceptions, the Phantom is seen swinging on a rope at some point in almost every filmic adaptation of the tale. Whether it is a heroic leap to save the heroine from death by dwarf-induced falling chandelier, or simply a means of transportation from one high catwalk to another, the rope swings of the various film Phantoms are invariably elegant and athletic.

Erik was aware of this, and he knew from experience that it was absolute nonsense. After all, why would a man who had installed trapdoors throughout his opera house because he was too lazy to use the stairs want to waste any energy doing bad Tarzan impersonations?

No, rope-swinging was certainly not Erik's forte, and he was painfully aware that most of the world was soon to find this out.

"Now, Marther!" hissed Igor.

Erik closed his eyes and stepped off the platform.

Half-way across the stage he made the mistake of opening them again. The auditorium whizzed past him at a dizzying speed. He whimpered…and did not let go.

Dracula, Christine and the bewildered film crew watched Erik swing from one side of the stage to the other like a black leather pendulum. He was, of course, rather embarrassed by this, but he would not let go! Not in a million years!

…But he was supposed to be Raoul, wasn't he? Raoul wouldn't be afraid of heights, oh, no! He was far too perfect!

Erik let go of the rope and dropped to the stage…

…and landed lightly on his feet, his black cape billowing around him.

This came as a surprise. Enough of a surprise to make Erik glance down at his feet in bewilderment. But they were still his own, and they did not appear to have grown wings.

He looked up at Christine. She was staring straight at him, apparently transfixed.

Erik moved towards her. He had only taken a few steps when he realised that he was walking like the Phantoms he had seen in the musical, which basically meant that he was walking as if bow-legged but _elegantly_.

_Oh, so elegantly…_

But the real shock came when his hands suddenly developed minds of their own.

Dracula and his film crew watched with their mouths wide open as Erik drew his hands caressingly across his hair, smoothing his few ragged locks. The hands continued on a journey down across his lapels, finally coming to rest on his thighs.

_What's happening to me? _He thought, fear and exhilaration jostling for position as his dominant emotion. _I don't normally behave like this! Why, I'm behaving like…_

…_like the man Christine wants me to be. _

Suddenly terrified by his actions, Erik grabbed Christine's wrist and held it tightly as the pair of them plunged through the trapdoor…

…just as a door at the rear of the auditorium flew open and a desperate voice shouted "No!"

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! Please review!


	18. The Very Worst Insult

Author's Note: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Many thanks for the lovely reviews, and apologies for taking so long to update! Again.

The usual disclaimers apply. Hope you enjoy!

'**The Price of Fame'**

**Chapter Eighteen: In Which the Characters Behave Melodramatically, and Raoul Uses the Very Worst Insult in His Flawless Vocabulary.**

"_No!_"

Surprised and angered by this unexpected interruption, Dracula turned to face the intruders. There were four of them, and they were hurrying towards him at great speed, their faces set in expressions of extreme concern.

"Cut!" Dracula yelled irritably. Then he scanned the four worried faces with blazing red eyes.

There was Erik, looking strangely thin and athletic. Word about the movie must have reached him after all. Well, fine. Let him anticipate his public humiliation. And there was Nadir, Erik's tedious friend, who seemed to follow him almost everywhere. And there was Raoul. He looked a bit dishevelled, but never mind. It would make a change from him looking perfect. And there was Van Helsing. Now what the hell was he doing here? Well, the potion hadn't worn off yet. At least that was something…

Dracula's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Something was not right…

"_Raoul?" _ Dracula gasped. "But you just…you're…"

Raoul reached Dracula and, with a daring that surprised Nadir and Angel, took him firmly but gently by the shoulders. This was a wise move…the vampire looked ready to faint.

"Where did they go?" Raoul demanded fiercely.

"Who?" Dracula was not a coward, but he was definitely whimpering.

"Erik and Christine!" cried Raoul, shaking the confused vampire by the shoulders.

"_Erik?"_ said Dracula, staring at Angel. "What _are_ you talking about? He's standing right beside you!"

Angel stepped forward and offered a bony hand to the perplexed director.

"It is good to meet you at last, Count," he said, a barely noticeable hint of menace in his voice. "I'm Angel, Erik's past, fictional self."

"You mean you're not real?" said Dracula, bewildered.

Angel sighed. Perhaps he should humour this surprisingly stupid creature.

"If that's what you want to believe, then yes," he said tiredly. "You're in shock. I'm a hallucination."

Dracula opened his mouth to ask another question, but Nadir cut in before he had a chance to speak.

"Count Dracula," he said, his voice shaking with nerves. "It is very important that you tell us where that trapdoor leads. Monsieur de Chagny thinks that Erik has kidnapped Christine."

"_What?" _ Dracula gasped, suddenly alert. "You mean it was Erik up there?"

"Yes!" cried Raoul. "The monster has taken her! I'm sure of it! We have to go after them! Oh, how could I have let this happen? I'll never…"

Raoul trailed off, and stared up at Dracula in horror. The vampire appeared to be _growing_. Huge dark shadows seemed to swirl around his form. With immaculate timing, an icy wind blew out all the candles in the auditorium, which was strange considering most of them had electric flames.

"Errrrrriiiiiikkkkkk!" Dracula growled. "Errrrrrriiiiiiiikkkkkk!"

The other four backed slowly away from him.

"What's happening to him?" whispered Nadir to Van Helsing.

"He's _changing_," said Van Helsing, with a shudder.

"What? You mean into a bat?"

Above their heads, Dracula laughed horribly.

"A _bat_? Oh, no, my friend! I don't think a mere _bat_ will suffice…"

As Dracula spoke, a huge pair of wings unfolded from his shoulders. His ears and fangs lengthened. His fingers became claws.

"…but a giant _mutant_ bat might well do the trick!"

Everyone trembled. Dracula looked like something off the cover of a Meat Loaf album.

Angel started to hum.

"Angel! This is neither the time nor the place!" said Nadir sharply.

Dracula the Giant Mutant Bat spread his wings and cleared his throat. Then he addressed the studio at large.

"My friends!" he boomed, his unearthly voice echoing around the room. "My beloved Christine has been stolen away by the Phantom of the Opera, that most callous and evil of monsters! I want the cellars of this studio to be thoroughly searched! They must not be allowed to leave! Do I make myself clear?"

"_Rhubarb, rhubarb!"_ mumbled the workers obligingly.

"Jolly good!" said Dracula. He turned back to face Raoul and the others. "You're coming with me! All four of you! Including you, Hallucination!" he said, his eyes blazing at Angel. Angel's eyes blazed calmly back. "Igor! Open that trapdoor! I'll get my Christine back if it's the last thing I do!"

And Dracula took to the air and nose-dived into the open trap.

Nadir, Angel and Van Helsing exchanged glances.

"What do you think we should do?" said Van Helsing.

"Go with Dracula, of course!" said Raoul impatiently. "What are we waiting for?"

"I'm not sure I can place my trust in a giant mutant bat creature," said Nadir matter-of-factly. "I'd rather find Erik myself."

"But we have no idea where to look!" said Raoul.

"I think I do," said Angel.

The other three turned to look at him.

"Where?" said Raoul. "Tell me!"

"Dracula is going about this entirely the wrong way," said Angel patiently. "If I was Erik, which I am, I'd fall through that trapdoor and then do exactly the opposite of what everyone was expecting of me and climb up to the roof. Then I'd climb down the outside walls and make my getaway. That's what I'd do if I was Erik. Which I am. You have to know how to get inside the criminal mind. Erik's probably above our heads right now."

"That's brilliant!" said Nadir. "Where are the stairs?"

"This way!" yelled Raoul, running back towards the door of the studio. "Hold on, Christine! I'm coming! Poor girl, she's probably unconscious with fright by now!"

The four companions had just exited the fake auditorium and started up the main staircase when Angel suddenly whimpered with pain. Startled, Nadir and Van Helsing turned to see what was wrong. Oblivious to everything but Christine's apparent abduction, Raoul continued up the stairs.

Angel was leaning against the banister, both hands pressed to his stomach. He moaned softly.

"Angel!" said Nadir, hurrying back down the stairs. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Angel shook his head hastily.

"It's nothing…" he said, with an effort.

"It doesn't sound like nothing to me," said Nadir. "Are you sure you're all right? You were complaining of a headache back in the dungeon…"

"Oh, stop fussing, Nadir!" snapped Angel.

Nadir drew back, surprised by Angel's vicious tone.

"I'm sorry," said Angel, realising that he had startled the daroga. "I'm fine. Really. It's just a bit of indigestion, that's all. Probably too many doughnuts."

Angel tried to smile, but cringed instead.

"You're very pale," said Van Helsing. "I think you should sit down for a few minutes. You go on ahead, Nadir. I'll stay with him."

"No!" Angel protested. "I'm coming with you!"

"Van Helsing's right, Angel," said Nadir sternly. "You should rest. You can catch us up when you feel better."

"Oh, very well, Nadir, if it'll stop you worrying," grumbled Angel, sitting down heavily on a stair. "Just make sure you're kind to Erik. I know what you're like. You're probably preparing a lecture in your head as we speak!"

Embarrassed by the accuracy of Angel's perception, Nadir nodded in assent and ran after Raoul.

Van Helsing stared at Angel, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Angel," he began severely, "I'm a doctor. You can trust me. If there's something wrong…"

Angel rolled his eyes in irritation. "There's nothing wrong with me, Van Helsing. It was just a twinge. Really."

Van Helsing appeared unconvinced, but said nothing more.

Angel's mind was racing. The pain had startled him, catching him off-guard. But, come to think of it, he _had_ been feeling odd since he had found himself chained to the wall of the dungeon. Perhaps he had been in the real world for too long. Perhaps he…

No. It was too soon for that. Far too soon…wasn't it?

"Come on," said Angel, rising unsteadily to his feet. "Let's get going. The poor viscount's probably caught up with Erik by now."

"Isn't it Erik you should be feeling sorry for?" said Van Helsing, raising an eyebrow.

Angel grinned. For a moment, the pain vanished.

"You don't know Erik," he said simply.

--(--(--

High above the stage of the fake Paris Opera House, Erik was struggling up a rather unstable spiral staircase with Christine draped over his shoulder. He had carried her up the equivalent of nine flights of stairs, and Erik was exhausted. Now he put her down and sank onto a step beside her, panting with the exertion.

"What's the matter?" said Christine, irritated by Erik's slow progress.

"Sorry…Christine…" Erik gasped, clutching his side. "I've just got a bit of…a stitch."

"Then it's best to keep going," said Christine. "Stopping for a rest will only make it worse."

"I don't understand why I have to carry you, Christine," Erik grumbled.

"Because that's the way it has to be done! The Phantom always carries the heroine after he has kidnapped her! Just watch any of the movies!"

"He doesn't in the musical," Erik argued.

"I know that," said Christine. "I'm not stupid."

"Then_ why_?"

"Because it's romantic!" said Christine, smiling dreamily. "And I tire easily. And it'll get you fit."

"Please, Christine…" said Erik. "I'm not as young as I used to be…"

"No, and you never will be!" said Christine sternly. "Not with that attitude, anyway!"

Erik looked at her pleadingly.

"Oh, very well," said Christine grumpily. "We'll rest for half a minute."

"Christine…" said Erik, once he had recovered slightly. "What happened down there?"

"What do you mean?" said Christine, puzzled.

"I went all…funny. I was walking bow-legged, but elegantly…"

"Oh, so elegantly…" said Christine dreamily.

"And my hands! Did you see what happened to my hands?"

"Yes, dear. You were very sexy."

The magic word hung in the air between them in imaginary pink neon letters.

"I was…_sexy_?" said Erik in surprise.

"Yes sweetheart. You were very sexy."

"_Me?"_

"Yes! Oh, my darling angel! I'm so proud of you!"

"I was sexy…" Erik whispered in disbelief. "Erik is sexy…"

Somehow, the words did not sound quite right together.

"Yes, Erik," said Christine, laying a hand on Erik's leg. "How did it feel?"

"Good," said Erik uncertainly. "It felt good. Until the shock set in, that is."

Christine got to her feet and held her hand out to Erik.

"Come on," she said. "Dracula probably knows that we're missing by now."

Erik said nothing. He merely stared at Christine's outstretched hand in silent wonder.

"I want you to take it," said Christine, by way of explanation, smiling. "If you're tired of carrying me then you can at least drag me up to the roof."

Smiling gratefully, Erik grasped Christine's hand and rose to his feet. They resumed the climb together.

"Are you sure going up to the roof is a good idea, Christine?" Erik asked, after a moment. "Perhaps we should have gone down to the cellars…"

"No," said Christine. "Too risky. Dracula will expect us to make our escape that way. Anyway, I know an easy way back down. Don't worry. It's not much further."

And it wasn't. Within a minute, they had reached the end of the seemingly perpetual staircase. A slanted iron door barred their way to the roof. Christine pushed it open.

Castle Dracula and its Studios had been built on a convenient outcrop half-way up a mountain, with the intention of looking as precarious and dramatic as possible. The towers of the castle itself rose before Erik and Christine like great black icicles silhouetted against the early morning sky. Behind them, the sheer rock face of the snow-capped mountain disappeared into the clouds. A waterfall cascaded from a higher ledge into the valley far below, feeding a roaring river which acted as the castle's natural moat. Vapour from the waterfall shrouded the lower storeys of the castle and the base of the mountain in a mysterious blanket of white. Grey, pregnant-looking clouds hung oppressively over the valley: the first sign of an approaching snowstorm.

Erik took a welcome breath of the cold, clear air and stared in wonder at this magnificent scene.

"Stunning," he breathed in awe. "Absolutely stunning."

"Dracula's Kingdom," said Christine reverently. "It's beautiful, isn't it? And it's only the beginning, my love. We'll see such wonderful places together! We can travel the world, go wherever we want…"

"Funny thing…" Erik mused. "For years I wandered the globe, visiting many intriguing and beautiful places. Persia…India…Turkey…but I've never seen such an enchanting sight. Perhaps a travelling companion will make all the difference."

"Come on," said Christine, squeezing Erik's hand. "We'd better hurry."

"_Christine!_"

The shout had come from the other end of the roof. Startled, Christine and Erik turned around. Raoul was hurrying across the roof towards them, his shirt unbuttoned and his unkempt hair streaming behind him in the wind.

Erik looked at Christine in sudden panic, but the young woman merely stared at Raoul with an expression as cold as the snow which was beginning to fall around them.

"Christine!" said Raoul again, reaching them. "My darling! Are you all right?"

The viscount took Christine's hand in his. She instantly snatched it away.

"I am quite all right, thank you, Monsieur de Chagny," she said coldly. "But I would like to be left alone."

"Alone?" Raoul panted. "Christine, you're mad! Do you honestly think I'm going to leave you alone with this…this _thing_?"

"Don't you dare speak to Erik like that!" snapped Christine. "I love him!"

"No, you don't!" said Raoul, panic and desperation creeping into his voice. "Oh, my poor Christine! You're only saying that because you're afraid of him! He's threatened you again, hasn't he?"

At this accusation, Erik was released from his shocked paralysis. He glared at Raoul, his eyes shooting yellow sparks into the icy air.

"I've done nothing of the sort, you ignorant little fool!" he growled. "Christine came up here with me of her own free will! She does have a free will, you know, whatever you may think! She doesn't _need_ a man to make her decisions for her, least of all a shallow, naive, inbred little philistine like you!"

There was an appalled silence. Then Raoul began to laugh. This took Erik by surprise. He suspected that he had read too many fanfics in which Raoul curled up in a ball and whimpered at the first sign of an insult.

"She doesn't need a man to make her decisions for her, indeed!" Raoul chortled, his eyes flickering between amusement and anger. "That's rich coming from you! _You _only pretended to be an angel for three months! Christine, come away from him before he does something which we'll all regret!"

"I would never hurt her!" snarled Erik. "I love her!"

"Love?" scoffed Raoul. "You don't even know the meaning of the word! And you never will, you…you…" Raoul searched desperately for the worst insult in his vocabulary, "you fat, pathetic, leather-wrapped old _humbug_!"

And that was all it took. The words hit their mark like etching acid, and in a split-second Raoul was pinned to the floor with Erik's big yellow hands wrapped around his neck.

"A _humbug_, am I?" Erik said, almost spitting the words into Raoul's terrified face. "You should watch what you say, my boy! Well, let's just see what this big fat humbug can do, shall we? I hope to God I'm heavy enough to crush you, you little maggot!"

Suddenly, a pair of heavy hands clamped around Erik's shoulders, dragging him off the young man with irresistible force. Then he in turn was pinned to the snowy surface of the roof, panting and cursing.

Nadir's face looked down at him, his beautiful green eyes glistening with tears of disappointment.

"How did you escape from the dungeon?" Christine demanded. Nadir ignored her, and continued to stare sadly at Erik.

"Let me go!" the Phantom snarled. "In case you haven't noticed I'm in the process of committing a murder, and it would be a great shame if the victim turned out to be you!"

"Erik…" said Nadir, in the most calming voice he could manage. "It's me. Your old friend. Nadir. Don't you remember me?"

"Of course I remember you, you blithering idiot!" Erik growled. "How could I forget you? You're always fussing around me like an irritating little puppy! Didn't I warn you never to interfere with my affairs again? I've told you time and time again not to interfere with my affairs, but you just won't take a hint, will you?"

"You don't know what you're saying…" said Nadir. He was weeping freely now, the tears slipping down his cheeks and falling onto Erik's masked face. "Erik, you're not well. Let me take you home. You'll never have to see her again, and everything can get back to normal."

"Normal?" screamed Erik, pushing the daroga away and getting swiftly to his feet. "Normal? What do I have in my life which can possibly be called normal? I live under a bloody opera house, Nadir, in an apartment without any windows! I can't even have a nice relaxing sunbathe on a beach without the damned paparazzi showing up and photographing me to within an inch of my life! Don't you understand? There's no 'normal' to go back to! Christine is offering me the chance of something approaching normality, Nadir. I'll always be different from everyone else, but at least I won't be alone!"

"But you're not alone!" sobbed Nadir. "You've got me!"

There was a moment of silence. Erik stared at Nadir.

"Oh!" said Christine, a hand flying to her mouth in surprise. "Erik, I knew you and Nadir were close, but I never even suspected…"

"That's because you had no reason to be suspicious, my dear," said Erik, shooting a withering glance at the weeping Nadir. "There's nothing between the daroga and I. Only amused tolerance on my part, and a rather suicidal need for friendship on his. What are you trying to do, Daroga? Embarrass me in front of my future wife?"

"Oh, Erik," said Nadir, shaking his head sadly. "What have you done? You haven't really agreed to marry this woman?"

"_This woman_ is my fiancée, Nadir, and you will address her with respect! Are you so intent on ruining my happiness?"

"All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, Erik," said Nadir. "And if I thought your marriage to Christine would bring you happiness, I would not interfere. But this is a disaster waiting to happen! She humiliated you just a matter of days ago! How could a woman who treats you like that possibly make you happy? You'll simply bring out the worst in each other!"

"You don't understand, Nadir! Christine explained everything to me last night. She did all those things because she loves me!"

This dramatic revelation was followed by the silence which invariably follows dramatic revelations. Nadir and Raoul stared at Christine in shock.

"Christine?" said Raoul, bewildered.

"Christine?" said Nadir, bewildered.

"Christine?" said Raoul, still bewildered.

"Erik…" said Nadir, imploringly.

"Erik…" said Christine, imploringly.

"Christine!" said Raoul, imploringly.

"Angel!" said Angel, emerging from a hatch in the roof. "What have I missed?"

The four people on the roof turned to stare at him. Then they went back to saying each other's names in an imploringly bewildered fashion.

"Christine!"

"Erik?"

"Erik!"

"_Christine_?_"_

"What's wrong with them?" said Angel to Van Helsing, as the monster hunter climbed onto the roof behind him.

"Oh, they're being Melodramatic, that's all," said Van Helsing calmly. "I would have thought you'd know all about that. Look at the way their heads move when someone says their name. They look like they're watching a tennis match."

"But this is awful!" said Angel. "I know I'm a melodramatic character, but this is ridiculous!"

"It gets worse," said Van Helsing darkly.

"Erik!" said Nadir. "She's lying!"

"Christine!" said Raoul. "I'd rather die than let you marry that monster!"

"He's no monster, Gaston!" Christine spat. "You are!"

"Who's Gaston?" said Raoul, puzzled.

"How the hell should I know?" said Christine. "And anyway, it's completely irrelevant! Erik, if you leave me now, I'll die!"

"I'll die too!" said Erik.

"And _I'll _die if _you_ don't!" said Raoul.

"Oh, for God's sake!" cried Angel, who, in his weakened state, was unable to take any more. "If you don't stop _I'll_ die of boredom!"

"Don't interrupt, Angel!" said Erik irritably. "Can't you see that we're having an adult conversation here?"

"No, you're not!" said Angel, marching over to Erik. "You're simply delaying the inevitable! Believe me! I know you better than anyone!"

"Christine!" sobbed Raoul. "Christine! _Christine!"_

Van Helsing rolled his eyes irritably. Then he reached inside his rucksack and removed his most feared weapon: an antique leather-bound copy of Hugo's _Les Miserables_. He strode forward purposefully and brought it down neatly upon Raoul's head. The viscount folded up.

"As I was saying," Angel continued, "I think you and Christine would simply make each other unhappy. I love Christine, but I'm sad to say that I always knew, secretly, that our relationship was doomed from the start. After all, she loves her little chap the viscount, and always has!"

"No, I don't," protested Christine. "We're divorced. It's the Phantom whom I love! Who _are_ you, anyway? My God, you have Erik's face! And you smell funny!"

Angel smiled affectionately, and stepped towards Christine. "Have you only just noticed, my dear? I look like Erik and I smell like Erik used too because I _am_ Erik. Or, to be more precise, I'm Erik as he was when he met you. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance again, my dear. You can call me Angel."

Angel extended a hand. Christine stared at it in revulsion.

"I like to think I'm no more disgusting than your Erik there," said Angel, a trifle hurt.

"At least Erik wears perfume!" said Christine, wrinkling her nose.

"It's not perfume!" said Erik defensively. "It's lily and mothball scented cologne!"

"You mean if Erik didn't wear cologne you wouldn't love him?" Angel chuckled. "That's a bit mean, my dear. Perhaps you don't love Erik for himself after all, if you can't get over a little thing like him smelling of decomposing corpses."

"Perhaps I don't," said Christine bluntly. "But surely that doesn't matter? Surely Erik will be happy with a wife, a companion, someone to take for Sunday walks?"

Angel laughed out loud.

"Christine, if a walking companion was the key to Erik's happiness, he would have bought himself a dog years ago!"

Christine looked away, unable to meet the dancing flames in Angel's eyes.

"Don't be embarrassed," said Angel kindly. "In a way, you're right. Erik would value your companionship more than life itself. But Erik also wants to be loved for himself, isn't that right, Erik?"

Dumbstruck by Angel's words, Erik merely nodded.

"One thing I've learned in my life," said Angel philosophically, "is that one should never settle for second best. If Erik married you, Mademoiselle, I'm sure you would be incredibly kind to him, but he would still go through life worried that he wasn't really loved. That's one of the reasons why he let you go. He knew that you could never really love him, and that keeping you would only make you miserable. And then Erik would be miserable, because he loves you very much and doesn't like to see you unhappy. I suppose what I'm trying to say, my darling, is that I think you should be absolutely certain that marrying Erik is what you really want."

"But I _am_!" said Christine. "I _am_ certain!"

Angel turned to look at Erik again. His shoulders were hunched and his head was bowed. He was shaking.

"Erik?" said Christine. "What is it?"

Erik stepped forward and timidly took Christine's hand. Christine saw then that the Phantom's golden eyes were filled with tears.

"Christine…" he said softly. "I…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Nadir begin to sag with relief.

Christine began to shake her head as the realisation hit her. "No, Erik! Don't listen to him! Please! He's wrong!"

Erik turned his head and looked at Angel directly. Angel didn't even blink.

"No, Christine," said Erik. "He may be exactly right. But I'm not going to lose you again just because I'm scared to take a chance. I love you."

Christine closed her eyes on tears of relief. Erik let go of her hand and looked at the other four figures. One of them was still lying unconscious in the snow.

"Erik…" said Nadir, desperately. "You're making a terrible mistake…"

"Maybe so," said Erik. "But I'll never know that for sure if I don't try, and regret is a terrible thing." Erik extended a hand. Wordlessly, Nadir took it. "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Nadir. I've never known a truer friend."

"But…" Nadir began.

"Hush, Daroga," said Erik, smiling gently. "There's no point trying to talk me out of this. I've made up my mind, and you know how stubborn I am."

"Where will you go?" whispered the Persian tremulously.

"Las Vegas to start with. And then…who knows? Take care of Angel for me, and make sure he doesn't eat too many doughnuts. We don't want him to end up looking like me, now, do we? Farewell."

"Look after yourself…" said Nadir brokenly.

Choking back tears, Erik released Nadir's hand and smiled at Angel. The other Phantom's eyes were squeezed shut and his shoulders were shaking. With silent sobbing, Erik presumed.

"Don't cry, little Angel. You can come and visit us," said Erik gently. Then he turned to address Christine. "Come, my dear, before Dracula finds us."

There was a _whooshing _sound above their heads.

"Too late," said Van Helsing, readying his crossbow.

Erik and Christine looked up just in time to see the huge mutant bat creature come to a halt in the sky above. It stared at them with beady red eyes, and then began to descend. By the time Dracula touched down on the roof, he had morphed back into his human form, his wings becoming a black cloak which whirled around him in the blizzard.

Erik clutched Christine to him, sheltering her with his own cape of black leather.

"Erik!" said Dracula, smiling malevolently. "Delightful to see you again, old chap! May I ask what you are doing with my fiancée?"

Erik said nothing.

Dracula began to move towards him with slow, threatening, deliberate steps.

"Running off with her, are we? I know she's irresistible, old fellow, and I know you have a _history_ with her, but now she's mine!"

"She doesn't belong to anybody, Dracula!" Erik growled, tightening his embrace around Christine. _Except me_, he added, to himself.

"_Well, let's just see about that, shall we?" _ Hissed the vampire.

Then he lunged, wings unfolding, hands becoming claws in mid-air. They clamped around Erik's shoulders, penetrating his leather evening suit and digging into his flesh. Christine screamed, and Erik cried out in pain.

And then his feet had left the roof and he was being carried through the air.

"Enjoying the view?" said a voice somewhere above his head.

"Let me go!" screamed Erik.

"I will if you want me to, old chap," Dracula laughed. "But I think you will find that it's a rather long way down."

Erik looked down. The castle was like a child's toy nestled amongst faraway mountains. He whimpered, and closed his eyes.

"You don't want me to let you go?" Dracula hissed venomously. "Very well. I'll hold onto you…for now."

--)--)—

Christine ran to Van Helsing.

"Can't you do something?" she cried.

Van Helsing shook his head. "If I fire at Dracula and bring him down, he'll take Erik with him."

Behind him, Angel whimpered softly. But the sound was lost amid the roar of the wind and the waterfall.

--)--)--

Erik tried to ignore his fear of heights and think rationally. This was rather difficult when one was being carried through the air by a giant bat wearing sunglasses and a beret.

An idea occurred to him.

"If you want to kill me," said Erik slowly, "why don't you do it as a man, in a fair fight? Are you scared of me after what I did to you with the bin lid?"

Dracula laughed demonically.

"Why should I be scared of you? I was only unconscious for a short time! It was no more than a scratch! Besides, you only won because I let you. I could have clawed you to pieces with my bare hands if I'd wanted to!"

"Well, then," said Erik. "If that's the case, why don't you prove it?"

Dracula was silent for a moment as he considered this.

"You're challenging me to a dual, down there, on the studio roof?"

"Yes," Erik said.

"And whoever wins the fight gets the girl, am I right?"

"Yes." Erik was pleased that he and Dracula seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Well, I'm very sorry, old chap," said the vampire, with a theatrical sigh. "As much as I'd like to win the lady in a gallant and fair fight, I can't escape from the fact that I'm a monster." Here, Dracula's voice deepened until it became an awful, guttural growl. "And we monsters take _what_ we want, _when _we want. You see, Erik, this has always been your problem! You're incapable of being truly, purely, unquestionably Evil. You're a weakling, and the world will be a worse place without you."

"What are you saying?" Erik gasped in horror.

"I'm saying 'Nice try, Erik, but I hope you've brought your parachute. Toodle-oo!'"

Dracula relaxed his grip on Erik's shoulders.

Erik dropped.

---)---)---

Christine screamed and Nadir cried out in horror as the small black figure plunged through the air.

It vanished in the mist which encircled the castle. There was a distant splash.

"The river!" said Van Helsing.

Christine and Nadir rushed to the edge of the roof and peered through the mist at the icy water. A small, hardly discernible black object was floating on the surface.

"Hurry!" said Christine.

Nadir and Van Helsing followed her down a fire escape: the route she had planned to use when eloping with Erik. They reached the bank of the river. Without even pausing to remove her shoes, Christine plunged into the water and disappeared beneath the surface.

"_Mademoiselle!"_ Nadir gasped.

Van Helsing dived in after her. Nadir lost sight of him for a moment. Then he reappeared, holding Christine beneath her arms, keeping her head above the surface.

He hauled her onto the bank. She was sobbing and coughing up water.

The small, black object was clutched in her hand. Nadir took it from her gently.

It was Erik's black mask.

Nadir averted his eyes from the pathetic piece of leather and looked out over the moat. But the water was still, tranquil and lifeless. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Up on the roof, Angel shrieked with pain.


	19. The End of the Ghost's Love Story?

Author's Note: Thank you once again for reading and reviewing. I can't believe I've got over 300 reviews for this! I never imagined I'd get so many when I first started writing! Once again, I'm sorry for the appallingly long period of time between updates. I hope you're still reading!

The usual disclaimers apply. The comments about "Phans" have been included purely for fun, and should not be taken personally.

Enjoy!

'**The Price of Fame'**

**Chapter Nineteen: The End of the Ghost's Love Story?**

In the depths of an icy river in Transylvania, a life flashed before a pair of golden eyes.

_The little house near Rouen, where he had been given his first mask…_

_A flight down a cobbled street flanked by half-timbered houses…_

_A hand pulling a red handkerchief out of the air (his first magic trick)…_

_A voyage across a sea…_

_Mirrors…a man dying of exhaustion and thirst…a woman peering through the little window, and laughing…_

_Nadir's face, imploring..._

_The sound of a shell…lightning in the sky…_

_The first time he saw _her_…_

Erik realised that he was dying. Water filled his lungs and roared in his ears. He had no choice but to enjoy the rush of images…a beautiful, cinematic autobiography…

_A shadow in a felt hat…_

_Her voice, singing in a dressing room…_

_Rowing a boat…_

_Christine combing her long brown hair…_

_Sitting at his organ, composing his Don Juan and wearing a cute little Oriental hat…_

It was at that point Erik realised something was very wrong (apart from his approaching death, of course). He knew for a fact that Christine had blonde hair (or did she? Come to think of it, he couldn't quite remember…) and he had never worn a cute little Oriental hat in his life. However, he had to admit that he looked rather adorable in one.

The rush of images continued.

_Candles…_

_The chandelier falling…_

_The chandelier falling..._

_The chandelier falling, with Erik beneath it…_

_The chandelier falling, with Erik on top of it…_

_The chandelier falling, exploding, and then mysteriously vanishing…_

_The chandelier falling, bringing most of the ceiling down with it…_

_The chandelier falling…but slowly, and at a strange angle…_

_A different chandelier falling, and decapitating Carlotta in the process…_

The image kept repeating itself, over and over and over. But each time it was slightly different. Erik realised what was happening. He was not just seeing his own life flash before his eyes, but the lives of various cinematic and theatrical versions of himself as well.

Erik was rather alarmed by his apparent lack of a firm and coherent sense of identity. But it was too late to do anything about that now.

With visions of every actress ever to play Christine dancing before his eyes, the Phantom of the Opera lost consciousness.

---)--)---

Within fifteen minutes of Erik's fall, the peaceful riverbank had become the scene of a large-scale salvage mission.

Dutifully summoned by Christine's Igor, the local Mountain Rescue team and air ambulance had arrived as quickly as possible. Nadir had watched hopefully as several divers had started to comb the river and its banks, but his hope had turned to despair when, after ten minutes of frantic searching, there was still no sign of Erik.

A heavy hand fell on Nadir's shoulder. He turned round and beheld the grim face of Van Helsing.

"I've been talking to the divers," said the monster hunter solemnly. "They tell me that it's very unlikely that they'll find Erik alive, but they'll keep searching until they find his body."

Nadir nodded. His common sense had told him as much.

Christine, however, did not seem to be acquainted with common sense.

"But he can't be dead…" she repeated for the umpteenth time. "He can't be dead…"

Nadir looked at Christine, and felt something approaching sympathy. The woman was clearly devastated. Could it really be true that she loved Erik? Or was she simply disturbed by the death which had been a consequence of her actions? Nadir was not sure, but he knew that he should try and coax her back inside the studio. A member of Mountain Rescue had wrapped her in a waterproof sheet for warmth, but there was still a very real possibility that she would freeze to death if allowed to remain out here any longer in her soaked and flimsy costume.

The Daroga approached the young woman whom Erik had loved, and tried to smile at her gently. She was shivering.

"Come, Mademoiselle Daae," he said. "We should go inside and find you a change of clothing."

But her personal well-being was obviously the last thing on Christine's mind. For all the difference his words made, Nadir may as well have spoken Farsi.

"He can't be dead, Nadir, can he?" she said, in a small, childlike voice which made Nadir wince. "He's my Angel of Music, and angels don't die…"

Nadir could not look into those huge, sad eyes any longer. He let his gaze drop to Christine's hands, which she had knotted together in her distress.

"Erik will always be your Angel of Music, Mademoiselle," said Nadir, with difficulty. "He…loved you very much."

"I loved him too," said Christine.

Nadir's heart ached at her words, for he found that he believed her.

"Come on," he said, taking Christine's arm. "Let's go somewhere warm."

"No!" said Christine, pulling away from him with sudden fierceness. "I'm staying here!"

"You can't!" Nadir protested. "You'll freeze to death!"

"Good!" Christine spat. "Then at least I'll be with him!"

"But Christine…"

"I'm staying here!" Christine repeated, her eyes blazing with such intensity that, for a brief moment, they reminded Nadir of Erik's little golden flames. "I'm staying here until they find his body! I'm going to give him a proper burial, Nadir, like I promised him all those years ago, and _this_ time you're not going to stop me!"

"You're mad…" said Nadir. "It could take days to find him."

Christine turned her face away from him and stared intently at the river.

"Just go, Nadir," she said coldly. "Leave me."

Nadir knew Christine was beyond reason, but he would not let her bully him into leaving.

Despite his pity for Christine, a selfish thought still lurked at the back of his mind.

_She left him, but I was always there. I was his friend and guardian, and if anyone's going to bury him, it's going to be _me

There was a humming noise above their heads. Nadir looked up in time to see a very large and impressive helicopter coming in to land a little way downriver. It was white, and it had a suspicious looking logo printed in black on its side.

Nadir knew this could only mean one thing.

"Oh, no…"

The helicopter touched down on an empty area of bank. The door slid open. A large television crew poured out.

It was quite obvious it was a television crew. Some of the people had cameras and those large fluffy microphones which Nadir likened to feather dusters. A female correspondent was being given a hasty, on-the-spot make-up job by a fussy assistant.

Within a ridiculously short space of time, the cameras were ready to roll. The correspondent was standing in a position which allowed for a dramatic backdrop of the divers searching the river. Christine stood just out of shot, staring at the proceedings with a sort of morbid fascination.

The correspondent selected her favourite serious expression, and looked directly at a camera.

"This is Cynthia Scoop for Inappropriate Action News, coming to you live from Castle Dracula. Once merely the scene of countless horror films, it will now go down in history as the place where The Phantom of the Opera, an icon of Gothic horror in his own right, was callously and brutally murdered by an as yet unidentified bat-like assailant. Early reports tell us that the victim was carried into the air and dropped into this terrifyingly wet river. His body has not yet been recovered, but the combined forces of the Carpathian Emergency Services are currently trawling its depths with admirable skill and enthusiasm…"

Nadir watched in horror as the correspondent took Christine's arm and dragged her before the cameras.

"With me is Christine Daae, the Phantom's former love-interest and protégée. Miss Daae, is it true that the Phantom travelled to Transylvania at your invitation?"

Christine said nothing.

"This must have been a great shock for you," said the reporter, in response to Christine's silence. "Did you still harbour romantic feelings towards the Phantom?"

"Excuse me," said Nadir, his agent's instinct telling him that it was time to intervene. "What do you think you're doing? Can't you see that Mademoiselle Daae is in no fit state to talk to you?"

The reporter turned to Nadir and stared at him with a stressed, put-upon expression.

"Sir, if you're not a relative of the deceased, or a celebrity, or a local garlic farmer with an amusing anecdote to share, then I _really _don't care what you've got to say…"

"I'm Mlle. Daae's guardian," said Nadir, stepping between the two women. "And I can tell you that she has no comment to make regarding this tragedy…"

"It's all right, Nadir," said Christine. "Let me talk to her."

Nadir looked at Christine in surprise. "I really don't think that's a very good idea…"

"Please, Nadir," insisted Christine. She suddenly seemed strangely calm, but this only served to exacerbate Nadir's feeling of concern. "I know you're only trying to protect me, and I'm very grateful. But there's something I want the world to hear. Let me talk to the reporter."

Deciding that it would be insensitive to deny Christine her right to speak, Nadir backed away from the cameras.

Christine faced the correspondent and cleared her throat.

"I would like to offer my sincere condolences to Erik's many fans and supporters on this tragic day," she began tremulously. "As those of you who are familiar with his story will know, Erik was not a Phantom, but a man. A man who, in the past, did some terrible things, including tying me to a chair and forcibly showing me his collection of antique pincushions…"

Nadir covered his face with his hands and groaned. As truthful as Christine's words were, he did not want to hear his dead friend's name being dragged through the mud on international television.

"But Erik was not a monster," Christine continued. Then she paused, and reconsidered. "Well, all right, perhaps he was. But I can understand the motivation behind his behaviour. All he ever wanted was to be loved, and I took advantage of this vulnerability. Driven by an irrational, perverse love of Erik's theatrical incarnation, I bullied him into agreeing to marry me. I said some very cruel things which were designed to make him feel small, then I made him kidnap me just so I could live out a silly romantic fantasy, even though I was well aware of the danger he was in. My partner Count Dracula may have dropped Erik into the river in a misguided attempt to save me from his clutches, but the fault was entirely mine."

The correspondent, who had been listening intently to Christine's every word, managed to overcome her shock sufficiently to ask a question.

"Miss Daae, are you saying you accept full responsibility for Erik's death, even though you clearly state it was Count Dracula who committed the murder?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, that's precisely what I'm saying."

Nadir stared at Christine in surprised horror. He was well aware of the sacrifice she was making. Her reputation as a sweet, kind ingénue would be well and truly ruined.

"If it wasn't for my plotting and scheming like a manic super-villain, Erik would still be here," Christine continued. "I should have stayed out of his life. I remember he once said to me, in the fortnight we spent together beneath the Opera, that he didn't deserve someone like me. Now I know he was right, but not in the way he meant. Forgive me, Erik."

Christine stopped, and stared at the camera with sad but dry eyes. The correspondent, however, was now sobbing hysterically, along with the entire television crew. And, across the world, the Phans wept in front of their television sets.

Well, some of the Phans, anyway.

At this point, it is probably appropriate to note that there is, in fact, more than one type of Phan. Firstly, there are those Phans, like Hermione Harris, who love _The Phantom of the_ _Opera_ primarily because of Erik himself, whom they consider to be the best thing since the invention of not merely _sliced_ bread, but bread itself, that most fantastic and versatile of foodstuffs. These Phans were the ones who took part in the general outpouring of grief.

Secondly, there are those Phans who enjoy one or more versions of _The Phantom of the Opera _but who simultaneously acknowledge that Erik was not such a great guy, really, and that Raoul was actually quite a nice chap. These Phans were obviously upset by the news of Erik's demise, but not as upset as the Phan Type As. Charles Bloom was a Phan Type B, and he was distressed but not as distressed as Hermione, who was currently sobbing into his shoulder.

Thirdly, there are the Phan Type Cs, otherwise known as the Leroux Purists. These Phans reacted to the news reports of Erik's death with sadness but also a certain amount of relief. After all, it had been rather hard to take Leroux's statement "Erik is dead" literally when he was still very much alive and appearing half-naked in the newspapers. _At_ _least_, these Phans reflected in appropriately _random italics_ à la their favourite author, the_ obituary_ had finally _come true_, and the _daroga _could no longer be accused of _lying to the press_.

Michelle Dubois was considered by most of her friends to be a Phan Type C, but she was different from the majority of her kind. This was partly because she had known Erik personally, and partly because she was, in fact, a closet Phan Type A.

Tears pricking her eyes, she stared up at the huge Erik beach photo on the wall of her living room, otherwise known as the head office of the Save Erik From Things We Do Not Like Campaign (Since their meeting with Erik a mere few days earlier, the three founder members had voted unanimously to change the original title to something shorter which would also take into account the increasingly long list of Things which Phans generally Do Not Like).

"This is our fault," Michelle sobbed. "We should never have kidnapped him and shown him that letter."

"Don't beat yourself up, Michelle," said Charles comfortingly. "There was no way we could have known what would happen. I wouldn't be surprised if Christine was using us all along."

"I always knew she was evil!" said Hermione. "She's right, you know. She doesn't deserve Erik, and she never has!"

"Don't be silly," said Michelle. "You know as well as I do that isn't true."

"You know," mused Charles, "I actually feel a bit sorry for her."

"_We'll be bringing you more from Castle Dracula later in the programme," _said the anchorman on the television screen. _"And now we'll go live to Loch Ness, where a giant reptile has…"_

"Do you think…Angel's…all right?" sniffed Hermione.

The three Phans sat in silence, contemplating the possible fate of Erik's past-self.

--)--)--

On the roof of Castle Dracula Studios, Angel curled into a foetal position. His stomach was throbbing and his limbs were stiff and sore. His scream had evidently fallen on deaf ears, because he could hear no sound of anyone running to help.

But who could blame them? They were too busy worrying about poor Erik to give a thought to Angel and his rooftop sufferings. The fact that he was unable to help Erik only made Angel's pain even more acute.

Angel had always known that his existence within twenty-first century reality was unstable, and that his time there would be strictly limited. The precariousness of his condition had resulted in some convenient side effects, such as his ability to fade into his surroundings at will. But what Angel was enduring now was anything but convenient. In short, the pain he was experiencing told Angel that his time in the real world was almost up. His body was literally about to disintegrate.

And, to make matters worse, he was alone.

…Or was he?

There was a groan beside his ear. The Vicomte de Chagny - who had so recently experienced the full force of an antique leather-bound copy of Hugo's _Les Miserables - _stirred.

"Oh, my head…Where am I?" said Raoul, who was a great follower of melodramatic tradition. He blinked conscientiously, trying to rid himself of the visions which had haunted his dreams. Strange, incomprehensible visions featuring students marching backwards and forwards to rousing music while a large red flag waved behind them.

"You're still on the roof."

Raoul started. He hadn't been expecting an answer. He lifted his head awkwardly and saw Angel.

"Good grief!" he said, getting to his feet and staring down at the Phantom. "You look dreadful! What happened to you?"

"Nothing…" said Angel softly. "It's not important. Not anymore."

"But you're…" Raoul searched frantically for a word to describe Angel's current condition, "…you're _fading_!"

"Yes, Raoul de Chagny…fading fast, I'm afraid…"

Angel was indeed fading. The colour seemed to be seeping out of him. His yellow skin was turning a semi-transparent white. His eye sockets were deepening and widening. He also seemed to be losing weight right before Raoul's eyes.

His earlier hostility towards Angel forgotten, poor Raoul was now beside himself with concern. This was a blow to his sanity which he really could have done without under the current circumstances. Secretly, Raoul blamed Nadir. Whenever the Daroga showed up, events of a strange and inexplicable nature seemed destined to follow.

"What's going to happen to you?" he said, in a tone which told Angel that he really didn't want to know.

"I don't know exactly," said Angel, gritting his teeth and clutching his belly as pain knifed through him. He wondered vaguely why the awful sensation was centred in his stomach. "I'll probably disappear in a puff of smoke, or explode, or something equally ludicrous."

"Oh, you poor thing!" said Raoul, in a distressed tone of voice. "Will you die?"

Under any other circumstances, this could be perceived as being a very silly thing to ask. Angel, however, knew that it was a perfectly valid question.

"I'm a fictional character, Viscount," said Angel. "I can't die. My current body will be destroyed, but I'll reappear back in my novel, where I'll have to remain until I've gathered sufficient strength to come back again. And by that time poor Erik might be beyond help."

"Why?" gasped Raoul. "What happened?"

"Dracula carried him up into the air and let go," Angel explained. "He fell into the river."

Raoul's mouth dropped open. He knew he should be pleased that something bad had happened to Erik, but if Christine's expression of love was true (and he sincerely hoped it wasn't), her grief would destroy her.

"But surely he'll survive? He's immortal, just like the rest of us!"

"Yes," said Angel. "But the word "immortal" should not be taken literally when applied to any living creature. Dracula's immortal, but there are still things which can kill him, if only temporarily. Falling two hundred feet into a freezing river might be one of the few things which can destroy Erik. Even if he's not dead, he may be fatally injured, and I'm too weak to find him."

As he spoke, Angel's beautiful voice had become increasingly strained. Suddenly, he buried his face in the snow and began to sob pitifully.

Raoul was at a loss. Angel was supposed to be his natural enemy, but Raoul was a sweet, compassionate soul. He could not bear to see a fellow human being in pain.

"Oh, please don't cry!" he exclaimed. "It'll be all right!"

"You don't understand!" sobbed Angel. "I came here to help Erik, and now _this_! I've failed him!" The Phantom cringed, and folded both arms over his stomach. "Oh, it hurts…"

Realising that Angel was becoming weaker, Raoul placed a hand on the Phantom's bony shoulder.

"Please…" he said, as gently as he could. "Where's Christine? Is she all right?"

Angel let his head fall back against the roof. "Christine…"

"Yes!" said Raoul. "Where is she?"

"Christine…" said Angel again. "Of course…"

Raoul stared at Angel in confusion.

"Angel? What is it?"

"She's the only one…who can save Erik…" Angel gasped.

"How?" said Raoul.

"She needs to mingle her tears with his…_"_

For a moment, Raoul thought that Angel must be delirious. But there was something in his face which suggested otherwise. His eyes, or the little Raoul could see of them, were alert.

"I don't understand…"

"Find her," said Angel. "Repeat what I just said. She'll know what to do…"

"I'm not leaving you here like this!"

"Just find her!" Angel growled.

The Viscount opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind and nodded solemnly. Then, with one last look at the fallen Angel, Raoul de Chagny adopted his most heroic expression and set off in the direction of the fire escape.

Alone on the studio roof, Angel wrapped his cloak around himself for warmth. Then he slid a skeletal hand beneath the collar of his dress shirt and drew out Erik's locket.

Clutching the precious gift to his heart, Angel closed his eyes and willed Erik to survive.

--)--)--

Meanwhile, Dracula the Giant Mutant Bat was hanging upside down from a large tree branch not far from The Jolly Good Garlic. He had always found that hanging upside down was a good way of clearing his head, but today it did not seem to be doing any good. The sound of Christine's scream when he had let Erik fall kept coming back to haunt him. Vampires have uncommonly good hearing, and even at such a high altitude Dracula could not help but hear her heartbroken shriek.

Dracula shifted nervously on his branch. There was an odd sensation in the vital organ which he would, for the sake of argument, call his "heart." Dracula had never experienced this feeling before, but he suspected that it might well be "guilt."

The vampire did not understand why Christine had screamed, but he knew that his disposal of Erik must have hurt her somehow. Dracula was understandably perplexed by this; he had thought that Christine was in danger, and would therefore be glad to be free of the man who had kidnapped her. Instead, Dracula now had the sneaking suspicion that Christine would stuff garlic into every single one of his orifices if he dared show his face back at the castle any time soon. It was all dreadfully confusing.

Dracula sighed deeply and unfolded his wings. Women, he realised, would probably always remain a great mystery to him. Their behaviour had baffled him as a young man and now, over five-hundred years and approximately sixty-five wives later, this still had not changed.

Dracula knew there was only one thing he could do to give him the courage to face Christine again.

He went into the bar in search of a few drinks.

--)--)--

Nadir sat on a rock on the frosty riverbank and silently watched the activities of the television crew. They were currently standing in a huddle beside their helicopter, sipping mugs of steaming tea and congratulating each other on a piece of potentially award-winning television. Christine's speech had apparently gone down very well with their superiors and audience alike.

The woman responsible for Inappropriate Action News' current success was wandering aimlessly up and down the riverbank, occasionally pausing to peer into the water. Sadly, she saw nothing but her own bedraggled reflection.

Van Helsing had slipped away without a word during the news broadcast, leaving Nadir alone and unable to discuss his grief with Christine.

For the first time that morning, the enormity of what he had lost truly struck Nadir. He realised that he missed Erik in more ways than he would ever have thought possible. He missed his facial expressions, the way his eyes would literally light up when he was happy. He missed the sound of his beautiful voice, and his frightening laughter. He even missed his constant complaining. But, above all, Nadir missed the Phantom's friendship. The Daroga realised that Erik had been his only real companion for more years than he cared to remember. His loneliness was complete.

There was a metallic clanking sound behind him. He turned round just in time to see Raoul reach the bottom of the fire escape. The Viscount looked extremely determined and heroic.

"Raoul!" said Nadir. "Are you all right?"

Raoul ran over to him.

"Where's Christine?" The Viscount sounded concerned.

Nadir nodded towards the ghostly figure which stood a little way upriver. "She's just over there," Nadir remembered then that Raoul had been unconscious at the time of the murder. "Raoul, there's something you should know. It's about Erik..."

"It's all right, Nadir. Angel told me."

"Angel!" exclaimed Nadir, realising guiltily that he had completely forgotten about Erik's double. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

Raoul shook his head. "He's on the roof, and no, he isn't all right. He looks really ill, and he says he's about to vanish. I didn't really understand what he was talking about, to tell you the truth…"

Nadir's eyes widened. "I'd better go to him."

"No," said Raoul. "I think you should stay here. She might need your help."

"Who's 'she'?"

"Christine. Angel told me that she can save Erik."

"Are you mad?" Nadir erupted. He was tired of being the sane and supportive one. Why wouldn't these lunatics leave him alone? "Erik's dead, Raoul! My best friend's gone forever. Nothing can bring him back!"

"But Angel said…"

"I don't _care _what Angel said!" growled Nadir. "It can't be done!"

"What can't be done?"

The voice was quiet, but curious. Nadir and Raoul turned to find Christine watching them with cool blue eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"Christine!" cried Raoul. "My darling! Are you all right?"

"As well as can be expected," said Christine simply. "What were you saying to Nadir?"

"You'll probably think I've gone mad," said Raoul, "but Angel says you can save Erik."

"Please, Raoul…" Nadir began, but the young woman waved him into silence.

"Go on."

"He said you need to mingle your tears with his." said Raoul. "I don't know what it means, but Angel said you'd know what to do."

"The End of the Ghost's Love Story…" said Nadir, more to himself than the others.

"_...she could marry the young man when she pleased, because she had cried with me and mingled her tears with mine,"_ breathed Christine reverently.

"You've lost me," said Raoul.

"It's a quote," said Christine. "From _The Phantom of the Opera _by Gaston Leroux. Surely you know _that_?"

Raoul looked embarrassed. "Well, you see…I've never read the book…"

"You've never read a novel which is about _you_?" gasped Christine.

"That's why I've never read it. I've never found the courage." Blushing slightly, Raoul felt the need to change the subject. "What does the quote mean?"

"Erik's describing his last moments with me to the Daroga," Christine explained. "He says he's prepared to let me go because I've cried over him. I think Angel wants me to do the same thing again, here."

"But why?" said Raoul. "_How_?"

Christine glanced at the body of water in front of them. "The river..."

The Viscount and the Persian watched as Christine drew near to the river. Then she crouched down on the edge of the bank.

"What are you doing?" said Raoul. "Don't lean over too far!"

Christine ignored him. She could think of only one thing: Angel wanted her to shed tears. Despite her bouts of sobbing, she realised that not a single tear had fallen from her eyes since Erik's fall. Christine did not understand how this could be, nor did she want to think about it. Instead she closed her eyes and concentrated on her memories.

Christine thought about all the times she had spent with Erik, both good and bad. She remembered his look of innocent joy when she had thrown his mask on the fire; she remembered the way he had cried when she had said goodbye to him for the first time, at the end of those two weeks in the fifth cellar; finally, she remembered how he had looked at her when they had parted with the intention of it being forever. His eyes had been full of tears, but he had smiled. He had truly wanted Christine to be happy with Raoul.

Ultimately, his sacrifice had been in vain.

A single tear fell from Christine's right eye, and landed in the river with a _plop_.

Spectacularly, nothing happened.

Another tear. _Plop_.

Still nothing happened.

This anti-climax was too much for Christine. Her bottom lip started to tremble. Then she broke down in despair.

"It's not fair!" she sobbed, weeping freely now. "Why can't I do something right for once?"

Raoul and Nadir offered no words of comfort. They stood frozen to the spot, staring at the river. Tiny air bubbles were appearing on its surface.

"I just want him back…" Christine continued, her tears falling into the river like a rainstorm in miniature.

Unnoticed by Christine, a hand emerged from the water like the limb of a cadaverous Lady of the Lake. It was not bearing Excalibur, but it did have a plain gold ring on its pinkie finger.

"Er…" said Raoul. "Christine…"

"No, Raoul," Christine sniffed. "Don't try and comfort me. It won't help…"

"Christine, I really think you should…"

There was a loud splashing sound. Startled, Christine raised her head and found herself face to face with a monster from the deep, its features caked with mud and leaves, its eyes squinting at her like those of a demonic sea lion. She screamed.

Erik opened his mouth, coughed violently, and fired a large silver fish into Christine's face.


	20. All About Doughnuts

Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely, encouraging reviews. I'm really sorry about the delay between updates. There were a couple of months when I didn't have much time to write, but now I'm finally back!

For anyone who thought I'd abandoned this story, please don't worry! I will definitely finish this fanfic. That's a promise!

As I've got more time now, the final updates – probably one more long chapter and an epilogue – should be posted quicker than the previous chapters.

Thank you once again, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera,' 'Dracula,' or 'Van Helsing.'

**The Price of Fame**

**Chapter Twenty: In Which We Learn That It Is All About Doughnuts**

As the honorary flying fish hit its bewildered target, a mouthful of tea was enjoying the same unnatural experience of aviation. It was launched from the open mouth of Cynthia Scoop, who had happened to look up from her conversation with the television crew in time to witness the impossible sight of the Phantom of the Opera emerging from the river. His lower body was invisible beneath the water, and his chest, arms and face were caked with thick mud, but Cynthia knew it was the Phantom, however hard it was to believe.

The tea hit a cameraman in the eye. His name was Brian, and nothing more will be said about him, except that he did not receive an apology. Instead, he received a barked command from the stunned reporter.

"Cameras! Over there! Now!"

The television crew surged forward.

As a result of the collision, Christine was lying on her back in the mud, looking dazed. The large silver fish flapped about beside her head, wearing an alarmingly similar expression.

The bewildered Erik clawed at the river bank, tearing off clumps of grass as he struggled to drag himself out of the water.

Nadir and Raoul looked at the approaching television crew. Then they looked at each other. Then they acted on impulse.

Raoul swooped forward, caught the unfortunate fish by the tail, and deposited it gently back in the river. Then he lifted Christine into his arms and ran towards the fire escape.

"Help me!"

The cry had come from Nadir. Raoul turned around. The Persian had managed to help Erik out of the river, but now the Phantom was stretched out on the bank, his eyes squeezed shut. His coughing had ceased, but his breathing was still laboured.

"Put me down!" said Christine, recovering from her faint with a speed which suggested a great deal of practice. Raoul obeyed, and Christine ran to Erik's side.

The television crew and the Mountain Rescue Team closed in around them.

--)--)--

If the crew of Inappropriate Action News had happened to look up at the roof of Castle Dracula Studios at that precise moment, they would have seen something equal in its strangeness to Erik's miraculous reappearance. It was a wraith-like being with dimming golden eyes, and it bared a remarkable resemblance to the Phantom of the Opera.

Angel had managed to drag his weak body to the roof's edge. From this high vantage point, he watched as Erik was placed on a stretcher and carried to a nearby helicopter. Christine, Nadir and Raoul got in with him. The television crew followed with their cameras, but the helicopter's door slid shut, preventing them from filming the interior.

Angel smiled and let out a deep sigh. Erik would be fine. He was certain of it. His work was done, and he was free to go.

There was just one more thing.

Angel reached inside his jacket pocket and produced his emergency jam doughnut.

"Hello, old friend," he said. "Angel's alone again, but at least you're here to comfort him."

--)--)--

Inside the helicopter, Erik opened his eyes and stared up at Nadir.

"Nad…ir?" he whispered.

"Yes, Erik. I'm here."

"Christine…"

"I'm here too," said Christine, squeezing Erik's hand.

"I can't feel…my legs…"

"You'll be all right," said Nadir, not at all sure whether these words of comfort held any truth. "Try and rest now."

"Angel…"

Erik's final word before he passed out was quiet but unmistakable.

"Angel!" Raoul exclaimed. "I have to go back for him!"

"We don't have the time!" said Christine. "We need to get Erik out of here!"

"Then go!" said Raoul, sliding the door open and jumping out. "Get the pilot to fly back for me later. I'll hide out in the castle until then."

With that, Raoul set off at a run, pushing through the television crew towards the fire escape, his long blonde hair streaming behind him in the wind, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his thin cotton shirt, a brave and dashing figure that would not have looked out of place on a white charger. Or the cover of a fashion magazine.

Christine and Nadir watched him go as the helicopter rose from the ground.

"It's moments like these," sighed Christine, "that remind me why I married that silly boy in the first place."

Nadir looked at Erik, and was reassured to see that he was deeply asleep.

--)--)—

When Raoul arrived on the roof he was relieved to see that Angel was still there.

His feeling of relief was somewhat reduced when he got close enough to realize that the Phantom was talking to a doughnut.

"You're not a very aesthetically pleasing doughnut," Angel was saying, apparently unaware of Raoul's presence. "You're a bit fluffy after being in my pocket. But I'm not a very attractive human being, so I suppose I can't complain."

Raoul wasn't sure what to do in this situation. He settled on a loud cough.

Angel managed to turn his head towards him, and smiled.

"Hello, Raoul de Chagny. So you've come back to see Angel. That's very kind of you."

Raoul got down on his knees beside the Phantom.

"Angel, why exactly were you talking to that doughnut?" he ventured.

"There was no one else here," Angel replied, cringing as a spasm of pain hit him. "I'm used to suffering on my own, but that doesn't mean it has to be in silence."

For the first time, Raoul heard bitterness in Angel's voice.

"I'm sorry," Raoul said. "I shouldn't have left you."

"I told you to," said Angel. "Anyway, you're back now. Back in time to join me in a toast!"

"A toast?" said Raoul confusedly.

"Don't look at me like that, Viscount. I'm quite sane," Angel chuckled. "Well, as sane as I usually am."

"But we don't have anything to drink a toast with," said Raoul.

"Use your imagination!" said Angel. "We can _eat _a toast. Eat toast, in fact! But I have no toast on me, so the doughnut will have to suffice."

Angel handed Raoul the doughnut. "Break it in two, and then we'll eat the toast."

Raoul did as instructed, wondering why his life seemed to consist of encounters with mad people.

"Isn't there anything I can do for you?" he said.

The Phantom closed his eyes for a moment, as if to block out any distractions as he thought. After a while, he opened them slightly, peering at Raoul from deep black sockets.

"Although it's hard for me to say this, I confess that I admire you," said Angel. "And I trust you. You've always been a man of your word, and I would like you to make me a promise."

Raoul was silent, waiting for Angel to elaborate.

"Do you know why I wanted Christine to cry into the river?" said Angel.

Raoul shook his head.

"Because I thought it would confirm Christine's feelings for Erik," the Phantom replied, his voice low and weak. "When her tears trickled under his mask that first time, before he let her go, it made him feel that someone cared about him. Erik had never felt like that before," Angel smiled at the memory, which was, of course, more recent for him than it was for Erik himself. "This morning, Erik had his doubts about whether he should go with Christine. I had my doubts, too, and I still do. But her tears showed him that she truly cares whether he lives or dies, and Erik found the strength to live.

"This fills me with optimism about their future together," Angel continued, "But I don't know for certain if it'll work out between them. With all the media interest, their lives won't be easy. So I want you to promise me that you'll always be there to support Christine if anything goes wrong. I'll visit when I can, but it might not be for a while, and I want to know that everything will be taken care of while I'm gone."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think Erik would see me as a threat?"

"I'm not asking you to spy on them," said Angel. "Just don't lose touch, that's all. Erik would be pleased to know that Christine had another guardian of sorts, but he'd be too proud to ask you. Will you promise you'll keep an eye on her? Do it for Christine, if not for me."

Raoul sighed. As if he'd be able to abandon Christine, even if he wanted to. Despite her irrational behaviour, he loved her as much as ever.

"All right, I promise."

"Thank you," Angel smiled, and then sighed tiredly. "It's time for me to leave. Goodbye for now, Raoul de Chagny. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Angel held the piece of doughnut towards the Transylvanian sky. Raoul followed suit.

"To Erik," he said. "And his life in the new millennium."

Angel bit into the doughnut. Raoul closed his eyes, and waited for the crack of thunder, the shaking of the castle's foundations. He waited for a long time, but heard nothing.

"Angel?" he said.

"Remarkable…" said Angel's voice.

Raoul opened his eyes. The Phantom was still lying in the snow, holding a half-eaten piece of doughnut. Raoul noticed that there was something different about him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"What's wrong?" he enquired nervously.

"Nothing," said Angel, his eyes burning with a new brightness. "That's the point. I actually feel a bit better…"

Looking at him, Raoul realized what was different about the Phantom: his skin, which only moments before had been white to the point of transparency, was now a very pale yellow.

Angel stared at the doughnut.

"It can't be…" he muttered.

"What is it?" said Raoul.

"Doughnuts…" gasped Angel, looking at Raoul with sparkling eyes.

"Doughnuts?" said Raoul, confused by the reverence in Angel's voice.

"Of course!" said Angel. "This is all about doughnuts!"

"Is it?" said Raoul, brightening. He had often wondered about the meaning of life. Perhaps Angel had happened upon the answer. True, it was not what he had expected, but it sounded sufficiently interesting to go down in history as a great theological discovery.

"Yes!" said Angel. "You see, I've realized how I've been sustaining myself in the twenty-first century!"

"Well, you can't really be blamed for relying on junk food," said Raoul confusedly. "It's the culture we live in…all the advertising and stuff…"

"No, no, no!" gasped Angel. "Don't you understand? Doughnuts have been my fuel. They've been holding my body together! I haven't had a doughnut in almost twelve hours! _That's _why I was about to vanish! I wondered why I was so obsessed with eating doughnuts! No wonder my stomach aches so much. I'm starving! I need doughnuts, Raoul! Quick! There should still be some in my room in the castle!"

"All right, calm down!" said Raoul, holding out his share of the doughnut to the starving Phantom. Angel devoured it greedily. "Can you walk?"

"I don't think so," said Angel, struggling to sit up.

Raoul rolled his eyes. _Sometimes_, he thought wistfully, _I think the world only wants me for my muscle_. _Ah, well…_

Moments later, Raoul was hurrying down the studio's main staircase with Angel's arms around his neck. The Phantom was light enough, but it wasn't an experience Raoul wanted to repeat in a hurry. Angel didn't just have bony elbows…he had bony everything. And then there was that unique odour which Raoul identified as "Essence of Opera Ghost."

"Funny, really, isn't it?" he said untruthfully, trying to make light of the situation. "Raoul de Chagny coming to the rescue of a Phantom of the Opera!"

"_The _Phantom of the Opera," corrected Angel. "Just because I'm the past version doesn't mean Erik has more of a claim to that title than I have. And, quite frankly, I'm finding this situation most embarrassing."

Raoul kept his thoughts to himself after that. Apparently his burden was not in the mood for friendly chatter.

Fortunately, Raoul was familiar enough with the layout of Dracula's home to locate the guest wing from which Angel and Nadir had been snatched the previous evening.

Raoul tried the door which Angel indicated. It was locked.

"Put me down," said Angel.

Raoul did as instructed, and watched as Angel took a hairgrip from behind his ear. Then, leaning heavily upon the door for support, the Phantom set to work on the lock. Within seconds, the door was open, and Raoul was helping Angel across the threshold.

The sack of doughnuts was still on the bed where Angel had unwillingly left it when Christine's Mirror Brides had come to call. The Phantom broke away from Raoul's supporting grip and fell upon it immediately, spilling its contents onto the duvet. Then Angel began to eat.

Raoul watched as Angel devoured three medium-sized doughnuts in quick succession. The viscount, who was used to exercising restraint in all aspects of his life, including eating, was alarmed by the voracity of his companion's appetite.

"Take it easy, Angel!" he said. "You'll make yourself sick!"

But Angel appeared to have had his fill of doughnuts. He reclined on the mattress, his skin a shade of yellow which Raoul could only regard as healthy. His bones already seemed to have a bit more flesh on them.

"Feeling better?" said Raoul.

Angel nodded, and gave a yawn.

"Yes, but I could do with a nap. I feel rather full."

"The helicopter's coming back for us," Raoul remarked. "It might be here soon."

"Then wake me up when it arrives," replied Angel, removing his shoes and crawling under the bedclothes.

Raoul had a worrying thought.

"What if Dracula comes back?" he said.

"Offer him a garlic doughnut," said Angel, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.

Raoul looked at the sack of doughnuts.

"What I don't understand is: why doughnuts?" he said, scratching his head absently. "Why couldn't some nice, healthy food save the day? Like bananas, or…or sprouts!"

"I hate sprouts…" Angel murmured sleepily. Then he began to snore.

The Vicomte de Chagny had to acknowledge that he, too, hated sprouts.

Raoul sat in an armchair to await the sounds of the helicopter returning. His eyelids began to droop, and before long he also fell into an exhausted sleep.

---)---)---

Van Helsing was as yet unaware of Erik's miraculous rescue. Seeing Christine's distress after Erik's fall, the vampire hunter had sworn to himself that the Phantom's death would be avenged, and had left in pursuit of the killer. He was currently hiding in the shadows of some trees near the inn known as The Jolly Good Garlic. If experience was anything to go by, Van Helsing was fairly sure that Dracula would be in there right now, forgetting the murder with the aid of some poor, helpless victim.

The vampire hunter crept up to the front of the inn and peered in through the window.

Sure enough, Dracula was in attendance, but not in the capacity that Van Helsing had expected.

Instead of terrorizing the inn's unfortunate clientele, the vampire appeared to be dancing on a table.

Bewildered by this unorthodox sight, Van Helsing entered the inn. Dracula did not notice his presence at first. Instead he continued his wild dance, kicking his heels to a merry tune being played by a woman on an accordion. He was holding a glass in one hand, and its contents sloshed around as his arms flailed inelegantly to the music.

Van Helsing walked over to thebar and leaned towards the innkeeper.

"Has he been here long?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"Who?" said the innkeeper.

Van Helsing nodded discreetly towards the dancing vampire.

"Oh!" The man laughed. "He's been in here about an hour. He's a real party animal, the old Count!"

"So I see," said Van Helsing, watching Dracula out of the corner of his eye. The vampire had stopped dancing and was now attempting, with the rowdy encouragement of the regulars, to down the contents of his glass in one go. Van Helsing noticed that the liquid was red.

"What's he drinking?" he asked.

"The Old Black Bat's Guilt-Free Indulgence" whispered the innkeeper. "An alcoholic blood substitute which mainly consists of diluted tomato ketchup, beer, and chilli powder for an extra strong kick. It's hard to believe, but nine out of ten vampires can't tell the difference."

"It sounds dreadful," said Van Helsing.

"It is," said the innkeeper. "But the Count seems to like it. Are you a friend of his?"

"Occasionally," replied the vampire hunter, looking directly at his nemesis. This proved to be a mistake, because at that moment the vampire saw him.

"Van Helsing!" Dracula cried, jumping from the table. "My dear, dear old chap! It's simply _fantabulous_ to see you!"

Van Helsing strode forward and took Dracula by the arm.

"Count Dracula," he whispered, so as not to attract any undue attention, "By the authority of the International Association of Vampire Hunters, I'm arresting you for the murder of Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. You do not have to say anything…"

"Oh! Erik! He was a bore, wasn't he? And now he's dead, and Christine will never forgive me! I just know it!"

Suddenly, Dracula burst into tears, burying his head in Van Helsing's woolen jumper.

"You're drunk," said Van Helsing, disgustedly.

"I'm not drunk!" said Dracula. "Well, not as drunk as I'd like to be, anyway. But give me time! Oh, Christine…Christine…Why can't she love me for who I am? Why is she still so interested in that suave idiot?"

"She loved him," said Van Helsing.

"I know that," said Dracula simply. "I think I've always known. She was always talking about him. Erik this! Erik that! But he was vile to her! Locking her up underground like that…I'd never do that to her! I've played the perfect gentleman since the night we met! She must be mad!"

Dracula was shouting now. Aware that something was wrong, the inn's other occupants had started to whisper to each other. Van Helsing noticed this and led Dracula from the inn. The vampire followed without protest.

"You're a good fellow, Van Helsing," he said, once they were out in the street. "A very good fellow. _You_ know how I can get Christine back, don't you? I'm sure you're a hit with the ladies, a handsome chap like you!"

"It's all over, Dracula," said Van Helsing gravely. "Christine will never forgive you, and neither will anyone else, particularly when the media is finished with you! Talking of which…"

There was a buzzing sound above them. Right on cue, the Inappropriate Action News helicopter touched down in the village square. The door opened, and Cynthia Scoop and her colleagues stepped out, no doubt in search of refreshment. Cynthia immediately recognized Count Dracula from the recent photographs in _The Trivia_, and thanked her lucky stars.

"Can this day possibly get any better?" she thought, gesturing wildly for her television crew to follow her.

Van Helsing knew that there was no escape. Besides, the vampire deserved whatever he got.

Cynthia Scoop and her crew reached them, a camera already filming.

"Count Dracula?" she said, thrusting a microphone towards Dracula's face. To Van Helsing's astonishment, the vampire made no attempt to escape. He hung his head and lowered his eyes, apparently resigned to the fate that awaited him.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "I am Dracula."

"What have you got to say about your attempted murder of the Phantom of the Opera?"

"I thought he was threatening Mademoiselle Daae," said Dracula, failing to notice the reporter's apparent error.

"What do you mean, 'attempted'?" said Van Helsing.

"Don't you watch the news?" said Cynthia, in a tone which suggested that she took such things personally.

"Watching television has hardly been my number one priority this morning," replied Van Helsing. "What's happened?"

"The Phantom survived," said Cynthia. "He dragged himself out of the river. I saw it with my own eyes…it was a miracle!"

"He's alive?" gasped Dracula, feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

"Where is he now?" said Van Helsing.

"I imagine they've taken him to hospital. He was in a terrible state."

"Hospital…" Dracula muttered. "Bucharest, possibly?"

Van Helsing turned to reply, but Dracula had vanished, as if he had simply melted into the shadows. Then the vampire hunter heard a sinister laugh, and looked up to see a small bat circling above his head.

The television crew gasped. Cynthia Scoop felt like jumping around for joy. She had just made the first film ever of a genuine vampire metamorphosis! Dollar signs and award statues danced before her eyes.

Van Helsing pointed his crossbow at the tittering creature.

"Dracula! Come down here this minute!"

"Oh, Van Helsing, give me a chance!" said Dracula. "I might still get Christine back!"

Dracula flew into a tree. Seconds later, a huge group of bats took off from the branches and set off in the direction of Bucharest.

Van Helsing sighed and lowered his crossbow. He knew he would never catch Dracula now. To his eyes, one bat looked just like another.

Cynthia shrugged, and flashed Van Helsing a sympathetic smile. Then she pointed to the helicopter.

"Do you need a lift?"

---)---)---

As he stared into the black void behind his eyelids, Erik knew that he must be dead. This filled him with a great deal of alarm, regret and irritation.

Strangely, the thing that was worrying him the most was the content of his obituary.

_I hope Nadir writes a decent one this time_, thought the Phantom. _"Erik is dead" was so impersonal, not to mention unimaginative! But Nadir has absolutely no talent when it comes to the written word. I wouldn't be surprised if the new obituary said "Erik is dead. Again."_

_Oh, God. I can't feel my body!_

_Of course I can't. I'm dead. It stands to reason._

"Erik?"

_Oh, no! Nadir must be dead too!_

"Is he all right?"

_And Christine! What happened? Did Dracula get them?_

"I think he's waking up," said Nadir.

Erik's eyes flickered open to reveal Nadir's concerned face looking down at him. It currently had four eyes and two noses, and it was surrounded by a stark white light.

"Ungh?" Erik said, in a tone of deep bewilderment.

Christine's face appeared beside Nadir's. She also had more eyes and noses than were strictly necessary. In his haze of confusion, Erik wondered if heaven was a place where everyone could have as many facial features as they wanted. He felt an inward surge of joy.

"Why is he looking at you like that?" said Christine, glancing nervously at Nadir.

"Nose…" Erik groaned, extending a hand towards Nadir's face. "Can I have a nose, my dear Daroga?"

"It must be the shock," said Nadir, struggling to prise his friend's long fingers from the tip of his nose. "Erik, listen to me. You're in hospital. You fell into the river, but Christine saved you."

"No…" Erik moaned. "Erik wants a nose…don't be greedy, Daroga! You don't need two!"

It was at this point that Erik's vision started to clear. He realised that Nadir only had one nose, and, despite his best efforts, it would not be parted from its owner's face. With a heartbreaking sob of frustration, Erik fell back against the mound of pillows.

"Erik…wants a nose…" he wept, tears trickling down his unmasked face. "Is it really too much to ask? It needn't be a big one…"

"We'll get you one, my angel" said Christine. "We'll get you a nose as soon as you're better."

Christine's face came closer, and Erik felt her soft lips touch his forehead.

Comforted by Christine's kiss and the promise of a nose, the Phantom of the Opera once again slipped into a peaceful sleep.


	21. Dracula versus The Phantom

Author's Note: I've finally finished a chapter! It took longer than I intended, so I'm sorry about that. Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one.

You might be interested to know that I recently posted another humour fic on called "The Peculiar Adventure of Firmin Richard." It's Leroux-based with one or two allusions to other versions of Phantom. Please check it out! It's under Opera Cloak with the rest of my fics.

Thank you for reading. On with the story!

'**The Price of Fame'**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera – The Final Round.**

**_The Troubled Times, Monday, 2nd June 2003_**

**_Phantom Lives to Haunt another Day_**

**The Phantom of the Opera returned home to Paris this morning after spending two days in a Romanian hospital. **

**Erik almost lost his life when he was attacked by Count Dracula following a confrontation on the roof of Castle Dracula Studios. Taking the form of a giant bat, the vampire carried the unfortunate Phantom to a height of almost 2000 feet before dropping him into a nearby river. Miraculously, Erik survived.**

"**We really don't know how he did it," said Nadir Khan, Erik's agent and oldest friend. "It was a true miracle. But Erik has always been a fighter, so maybe we shouldn't be surprised. The important thing is he's safe."**

**The incident occurred when Erik travelled to Transylvania to prevent Dracula from completing a movie entitled _Dracula versus The Phantom of the Opera. _**

"**Erik decided enough was enough when he found out I was playing him," said Raoul de Chagny, the self-confessed k-list movie star. "I would have done a good job if Dracula hadn't decided to wreck Erik's image. Quite frankly, I don't blame him for wanting to put a stop to it."**

**Christine Daaé, who was also starring in the movie, returned to Paris at the same time as Erik. Rumours are now circulating that they intend to marry. Miss Daaé has so far refused to confirm or dismiss these rumours. **

"**She still blames herself for the attempt on Erik's life," said Nadir Khan. "I have reason to believe that they still have feelings for each other, but marriage is a different thing entirely. I would ask the media to respect the privacy of Miss Daaé and her associates in regards to this matter."**

**Christine Daaé has spoken to the police regarding the incident at Castle Dracula. Reports indicate that she has also confessed to the abduction of two young women, both long term Phans, from outside Her Majesty's Theatre in London three weeks ago. The women have now safely returned to London and have decided not to press charges.**

**Miss Daaé is now assisting the police in their attempts to locate Dracula, who was last seen heading in the direction of Bucharest. Abraham Van Helsing, the famous vampireologist, gave the following statement at a police press conference this afternoon.**

"**Dracula was last seen in the form of a small, non-descript bat, travelling in a group of similar bats. If you see Dracula, or any bats behaving suspiciously, please contact the police immediately. Do not approach the fugitive; he is extremely dangerous. Also, do not approach any unidentified bats, wolves, or columns of mist with glowing red eyes."**

**Dracula's freedom is not the only problem Erik will have to deal with. Last week, the managers of the Palais Garnier issued him with an eviction order. He is no longer permitted to live in the cellars of the famous theatre due to health and safety regulations.**

"**The safety of patrons and employees is our number one priority," said Jean Rémy, co-manager of the Opera. "The presence of the Opera Ghost in our theatre was a potential danger to tourists, who have occasionally been known to venture into the cellars without the permission of staff. I need not remind you of the danger this man has presented to patrons in the past, and I think the management has been more than sympathetic in allowing him to remain in the Opera all this time."**

**When questioned whether the management could be persuaded to abolish the eviction order in the light of Erik's recent traumatic experience, Mr Rémy was considerably less than sympathetic.**

"**Maybe now he knows how the chandelier felt," he said, alluding to Erik's fall. **

Disgusted, Erik dropped the newspaper onto the pile beside his bed.

"The nerve of that man!" he cried. "How can he be so insensitive? After all the publicity I gave the Opera House, too!"

"It'll be all right," said Nadir. "You can stay here for as long as you want."

Erik grumbled a thank you which sounded less appreciative than he truly felt, and returned to looking through the newspapers. Some of the headlines were sensationalistic enough to convince Erik that the articles would not withstand closer inspection.

_**Blue-Blooded Blood Sucker Blamed for Blood-Thirsty Attack**_

_**Curtain Falls on Christine/Dracula Affair?**_

**_Christine: Innocent Ingénue or Diva of Death?_**

Nadir listened as Erik's growls grew louder with each headline he read. The final one was enough to make him throw the offending newspaper down violently.

"How dare they insult Christine?" he snarled. "I'm only too familiar with the cruelties of the press, but they've gone too far this time! I have a good mind to write them an angry letter! Diva of death, indeed!"

Nadir smiled to himself. Erik was obviously feeling better. He only wrote angry notes when he was in a particularly _good _bad mood.

The Daroga left his place at the window and sat down in the chair at his friend's bedside. Erik was propped up with pillows and surrounded by flowers and Get Well Soon cards from his Phans and well-wishers. His whole body was badly bruised, and his shoulders were swathed in bandages where Dracula had dug his claws into him. He also had a terrible cold; an unpleasant consequence of being in a freezing river so long. He was weakened and shaky and very sore, but otherwise uninjured. His doctor had recommended bed rest and plenty of fluids.

Erik had spent two days in a hospital in Bucharest. He had slept through most of the first day, and Nadir and Christine had kept a vigil at his bedside. The Phantom had woken up once, long enough to plead for a nose, and then had fallen quickly asleep once again. When he had finally reawakened, Erik had opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by Nadir, Christine, Angel, Raoul, and the smell of disinfectant. Looking back, he would remember this moment as one of the happiest of his life. He had survived against the odds and the woman he loved was by his side. He was now comfortably ensconced in Nadir's apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, with Christine and Angel as his fellow house guests. Raoul came and went, as did reporters and well-meaning Phans. Fortunately Nadir was on hand to deal with uninvited guests with the polite statement: "Erik is feeling much better, thank you, but the doctor says he won't be up to receiving visitors for a while. Thank you for the card/flowers/bunch of grapes." For the thousandth time in his life, Erik found himself thanking his lucky stars for Nadir's friendship.

"Well, at least the papers are being kind to _you _for a change," said Nadir comfortingly.

This was true. Upon returning home, Erik had asked Nadir to buy a copy of every available newspaper in central Paris so he could keep an obsessive eye on the press coverage. In the space of a few days, Erik had gone from being 'washed-up,' 'portly,' 'rude,' 'violent' and 'out of touch with modern life,' to being 'as popular as ever,' 'distinguished,' 'gentlemanly,' 'romantic,' 'courageous' and 'endearingly old-fashioned.' A weekly magazine devoted to celebrities had published the results of an opinion poll entitled 'The 101 Sexiest Fictional Villains of All Time.' Erik was at number one, with Dracula at number two. Although he was somewhat offended at being called a villain, the fact that he had managed to beat Dracula to the top spot filled him with childish glee.

Dracula. He was still out there. Was he staying away from Erik because he feared arrest, or was he merely biding his time? Erik knew Dracula too well to believe he had seen the last of him. The vampire did not give up that easily.

"Are you all right?" asked Nadir, noting his friend's worried expression.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all," said Erik evasively. "And hungry. Do you have any vegetable soup left?"

"No, but we've got plenty of grapes. Two Phans came to the door half an hour ago with some more."

"This is getting ridiculous," said Erik, looking at the dressing table. It was piled high with bunches of grapes, some of which were already turning brown.

"I know. But they mean well. They're only concerned about your welfare. Which reminds me: one of them brought these as well."

Nadir held up a pair of furry white slippers with ears.

Erik groaned.

"She said they'd keep your little toes warm and make you look sooooooo cute," Nadir added, in a mimicking voice which made Erik chuckle.

"It wasn't Hermione, was it?"

"No, but I think she was of the same species, or tribe, or club, or whatever it is Phans have."

"I think I prefer the grapes," said Erik, eyeing the slippers suspiciously. "Where is everybody today?"

"Raoul's gone to see his agent. I don't know what Angel's up to, but I have a feeling doughnuts might be involved."

"What about Christine?" Erik asked.

"She's out shopping."

"What for?"

Nadir lowered his eyes and looked uncomfortable. "A nose."

"Pardon?" said Erik, thinking he'd misheard.

"She told me that she was going out to buy you a nose," said Nadir.

"Oh good," said Erik. "_What?_"

"When you were in hospital, you woke up at one point and said you wanted a nose, so Christine said she'd get you one. I thought she was only saying it to comfort you, but apparently she was being serious."

"But you can't just _buy_ noses. Not real ones, anyway."

"Well, that's what she said," replied Nadir. "I assume she meant she was going to consult a plastic surgeon. But this _is_ Christine we're talking about, so I suppose we can't be sure."

Erik laughed.

"I don't see what's so funny about it," said Nadir, staring at Erik in disbelief. "You told me last night that she wanted to change you into some sort of Lloyd-Webber Phantom look-a-like, and now she's out purchasing facial features! Aren't you worried?"

"Why should I be?" Erik chuckled. "She said she'd get me a nose, and now she's trying to keep her word."

"Are you mad?" said Nadir. "She's trying to change you!"

"A few days ago, I would have agreed with you," said Erik. "But a lot's happened since then. Now she's simply trying to earn my trust by showing she can keep a promise."

"You're being naïve," said Nadir.

"Listen, Daroga," Erik sighed. "I don't know exactly what happened the other day in the river. Perhaps I'm immortal in every sense of the word, and absolutely nothing can kill me. All I know is that one minute I couldn't see or hear or feel at all, and the next I was alert again. I could hear Christine's tears as they landed in the water, and I could sense her grief. I knew then that she must truly love me, and I'm sure that knowledge saved me. I don't know if she still wants to change my appearance, but for that moment she wanted _me. _She wanted her Erik to survive," Erik pointed to himself. "_This _Erik, Nadir! Not some impossible fantasy!"

"Now you're being naïve _and _sentimental," said Nadir.

"I'm not," Erik insisted. "This last week has been the most unpleasant I've had for a long time, but it's taught me a lot about Christine."

"Like what?"

"Well, for a start, I've seen a side to her which I never dreamed I'd see. When I first fell in love with Christine, I was so afraid that she would reject me outright because of my appearance. I was worried she would judge me before she knew anything about me apart from the obvious. I thought she would see me as a monster, and she did, for a time. But now I've realised that I misjudged her. The first time I saw her, I saw a sweet young singer with a gentle face and a beautiful voice. She showed me compassion, and because of this I could never fault her. I always thought she was better than me. But now I know there's far more to her. I know she's always had a capacity for dishonesty, but I never imagined her capable of such utter deviousness. She took advantage of Dracula to get to me, you know."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at," said Nadir.

"She's capable of behaving irresponsibly, just like me," said Erik. "She's not perfect. I don't idolise her anymore. She's not a saint. She's just _Christine_. And she's quite possibly as crazy as I am."

"Ah, I see. You're both mad, so therefore you'll make a good couple," said Nadir. "Your logic is as flawless as ever, Erik."

Erik smiled wistfully. "That's the only thing, Nadir. I'm not sure we will. She's so…_different_ from how I remember her."

"Are you saying you don't love her?" said Nadir.

"Of course not!" said Erik, shocked by Nadir's suggestion. "I love her as much as I ever did. I just…I don't know…" Erik ran out of words and looked at Nadir apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can talk about this anymore. I need time to think."

"It's all right," said Nadir, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Just remember that I'll support you whatever you decide."

"Thank you, Nadir."

Nadir smiled. "You get some rest now, old friend. I'll go and see if I can rustle up something for dinner which doesn't involve grapes."

Nadir went downstairs, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. He was worried about Christine. Although she had been with him almost constantly since saving him from the river, neither of them had spoken of marriage. In fact, conversation in general had been difficult for them, populated by awkward silences. Christine seemed sad and distant, and she seemed unable to look Erik in the eye. Erik had seen the news footage of Christine's speech on the riverbank, and he knew that she blamed herself for his injuries, such as they were. He had told Christine that she did not need to feel guilty, that it was Dracula's fault for losing his self-control, but Christine did not seem any happier. Erik was now starting to worry that something else was coming between them. Did she regret asking him to marry her?

Erik turned over in bed and sighed. Then, exhausted in both mind and body, he fell asleep.

_He was lying on a sun bed by the edge of a swimming pool. Christine was reclining on the one next to his. The day couldn't be more perfect, and Erik sighed contentedly._

_Angel floated past on a giant inflatable doughnut, sipping a cocktail through a curly straw._

"_Angel?" said Erik, lifting his sunglasses. "What are you doing here?"_

"_What are you talking about?" Angel replied. "This is my honeymoon!"_

"_No it isn't," said Erik uneasily. "It's mine."_

"_I'm your past-self," Angel retorted. "It's my honeymoon too."_

"_But I'm the one who married Christine!" _

"_I married her as well," Angel chuckled. "I suppose you could say it was a double wedding!" _

_Erik looked at his new wife helplessly. "Christine?"_

"_Don't worry about it, darling," said Christine casually._

"_But he says you're married to us both!" said Erik, exasperated._

"_Of course I am, darling. What's the problem?"_

"_What's the problem?" Erik cried. "It's creepy and quite possibly illegal, that's what the problem is!" _

"_You should have thought of that before you married me," Christine replied simply. "Angel, be a sweetie and fetch me another drink."_

_Angel blew Christine a kiss and climbed out of the swimming pool. _

"_Hi Christine!" said a voice. _

_Erik turned to see Raoul de Chagny. He was wearing a red and black wetsuit and holding a surfboard under his arm. His shoulder-length hair was dripping with water._

"_Do you want to go surfing?"_

"_Of course!" said Christine, leaving her sun bed and walking over to Raoul. "I could do with a bit of excitement!"_

"_Christine," said Erik, as calmly as he could. "Why, exactly, is your ex-husband on our honeymoon?"_

"_Oh, Erik, don't be so mean-spirited!" said Christine. "Come on, Raoul."_

_Erik watched as the two of them ran off in the direction of the beach, hand in hand._

_Dracula popped out from behind a palm tree. He was pointing a video camera at the retreating figures of Raoul and Christine._

"Hello, old chap!"_ he said, lowering the camera and turning to smile at Erik. _"How are you feeling?"

Dracula's voice sounded so real, as if it were intruding into his dream as he slept. It occurred to Erik that his mind must be playing tricks on him, and that it had to be Nadir's voice he was hearing.

"Don't worry, Nadir," he murmured sleepily. "I just need to rest…"

"That's all right. I'm in no hurry."

Erik's eyes flew open.

Dracula was standing in the door way. His hair was unkempt and his once smart suit was stained with mud. His eyes glowed bright red, and he was smiling.

"Nadir!" screamed Erik.

There was a muffled sound from the next room, like a voice speaking in a monotone. Dracula chuckled.

"What have you done with him?" Erik cried.

"Don't worry. I've merely hypnotised him. He is quite happy, and very much looking forward to the release of my movie. It's a shame it'll never reach cinemas."

"I will go and see the movie at least one hundred times…" said Nadir's voice, audible now. "I will conclude that it is the greatest movie in the history of the universe…"

Dracula grinned and held up a small doll which resembled Erik.

"Wonderful things, these Magical Music-Activated Phantom Hypno-Dolls. Christine really does have a fiendish imagination."

"But they only work on Phans!" Erik gasped.

"Well, technically Nadir _is _a Phan," said Dracula. "He spends his life worrying about you and keeping you company…he's probably your biggest Phan after Christine! A bit sad, really," Dracula paused for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. "But you're good at owning people, aren't you? Even Christine can't keep away from you, though I've got no idea what she sees in you."

"What are you doing here, Dracula?" asked Erik, his voice shaking.

The vampire started to walk towards the terrified Phantom on the bed. There was only one thought in Erik's head: Dracula had tried and failed to kill him once, and now he had come to have another go.

"I've come to give you what you deserve," said Dracula simply. Then, as Erik watched in horror, the vampire reached inside his cape and, with a theatrical flourish, produced a large bouquet of flowers.

Erik stared at them. They were very pretty and smelled rather nice, but he wasn't fooled. They would probably excrete poisonous sap or explode on contact with skin. Yes, this was undoubtedly a bouquet to be reckoned with, a bouquet to be feared…a bouquet of _death_.

"What's the matter?" said Dracula. "Don't you like lilies?"

Erik looked up at Dracula in bewilderment. The vampire was still smiling, but there was nothing sinister in the smile. On the contrary, it was almost…almost _sad_.

"Will you forgive me, old chap?" he said, holding the bouquet out to Erik. Erik noticed that there was a card attached to it. It read: "Get Well Soon."

"Forgive you?" Erik snorted in disbelief. "You've brought me flowers, and now you want me to _forgive you_?"

"Well, I was going to buy you chocolates, but I thought you might not appreciate that, after all the things I said about your weight and everything. I would have called on you in Bucharest. I almost did, but someone was always with you. I wanted to talk to you alone."

"I don't understand," said Erik, who could not believe what he was hearing.

"I'm sorry for the little misunderstanding in Transylvania," said Dracula. "Now do you forgive me or not?"

Erik found himself wondering if Dracula had gone mad.

"You tried to kill me!" he snapped. "It'll take more than a bunch of flowers to earn my forgiveness!"

"But Erik!" Dracula cried, throwing the flowers on the floor and grabbing Erik's hand. "Erik, old chap, old buddy, old pal...you don't understand! They're after me! Everyone's after me! I'm being hunted, old chap, hunted like vermin! Police everywhere, no where to go! The Transylvanian cops have seized my castle! They've frozen all my assets! My movie's half-finished and I've lost both my stars!" Dracula paused for breath, squeezing Erik's hand in desperation. "But you know what? I don't care! I don't care about any of it! Because all I can think about is _Christine_! I miss her so much, Erik! You don't know how low I'd sunk when I met her! I used to hunt all night long. I couldn't stop drinking! But she saved me! I don't know what I'll do without her!"

Dracula burst into tears. Erik watched as he writhed on the floor, a pathetic, sodden heap.

Erik pushed away his blanket and got out of bed, his legs shaking as he stood up. Then he walked unsteadily over to the window and stared out of it. There were several journalists in the street below, no doubt awaiting further developments. Erik wondered briefly how Dracula could have slipped by them unseen, but of course this was silly: Dracula could go anywhere he wanted. If he wanted to make himself disappear forever, he was more than capable of it. Despite the best efforts of the police, Erik knew it was extremely unlikely that they would be able to catch the vampire, let alone imprison him for any length of time. Perhaps it would be best simply to accept his apology. Then hopefully he would be persuaded to leave Erik and Christine alone.

"Very well, Dracula," Erik said slowly. "I forgive you."

Dracula lifted his head. "Wha…what?"

"I accept your apology. Now get out of here before I change my mind and call the police."

Dracula shook Erik's hand vigorously. "Thank you, old chap! You've got no idea what this means to me! I'll be out of your sight in a jiffy! As soon as Christine comes back we'll be off!"

"What do you mean?" said Erik, his fear returning.

"It's quite simple," said Dracula, who had recovered from his display of grief with impressive speed. "You've forgiven me, so now I can tell Christine that there's no hard feelings between us. She'll have no choice but to forgive me for what I did to you as well, then she'll come back to me."

Erik considered himself an expert on twisted logic, but Dracula's statement sounded bizarre even by his standards.

"Christine may well find it in her heart to forgive you, Dracula, but she won't go back to you. She never really wanted to be with you in the first place. She was just using you so she could see me again."

A look of pain passed over Dracula's features like a rain cloud over the face of…well, a rather sad vampire. Erik realised that his old friend and enemy was very close to tears.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of the front door opening, followed by a voice on the stairs.

"Hello! I'm back."

Dracula's cloudy expression metamorphosed into a satisfied grin. Erik was impressed by the speed at which Dracula's mood seemed to change, and as he was more than qualified to compete in the International Mood Swing Championships himself, this was no small achievement on Dracula's part.

"Christine!" Erik cried.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

Erik watched as his bedroom door opened with a slow, agonising _creak_. The love of his life was revealed to him inch by inch.

Christine saw Dracula and screamed, dropping several expensive-looking packages as both hands flew to her mouth.

"Ah! My dear! You're just in time! Erik and I have been having a nice friendly chat, haven't we, old friend?"

"Wha ore oo doig er?" gasped Christine. Then she realised that she still had her hands clasped over her mouth. She removed them and repeated the question. "What are you doing here?"

"Dracula came to apologise for nearly killing me. He was just about to leave," said Erik, attempting to take control of the situation. "Why don't you go and unpack your shopping?" he added, looking at Christine imploringly, hoping she would take the hint and make her escape.

Dracula laughed. The sound made Erik shiver.

"I hope, my dear, that you will be a better host than Erik. He hasn't even bothered to offer me a cup of tea!"

"Will one of you tell me what's going on?" said Christine in bewilderment.

"What Erik says is true," said Dracula. "I came to say sorry, and he accepted my apology, so now there are no hard feelings! I know how much you care for Erik, Christine, but now we're friends again, can you find it in your heart to come back to me?"

"What?" said Christine. "Have you gone mad, Dracula?"

"Probably," said Dracula.

"I'll forgive you," said Christine, "but I'm not going to come back to you."

"But we were happy together!" Dracula whimpered. "We had lots of fun!"

"I've treated you very badly," said Christine. "I've used you and lied to you, but I'm telling the truth now. I don't love you, Dracula. I care about you very much, but I'm in love with Erik. I'm sorry."

Erik smiled. It was an expression of relief more than anything else.

"I think you know that deep down, don't you, Drac?"

Dracula gave Christine a stricken, heart-broken look. For the first time in a long time, Erik felt very sorry for him.

"I understand," said Dracula sadly. "I was hoping you'd return to me by your own free will, but evidently that's not possible. Forgive me, Christine, for what I'm about to do."

"What are you about to do?" said Christine, glancing at Erik worriedly.

"Just one moment," said Dracula. Then he wrapped his cape around himself and turned away. There were various shuffling and grunting noises and then he turned to face them again, his cape billowing around him in a graceful arc. Erik uttered a hoarse cry of horror…and Christine gave a little squeak of admiration.

Dracula's mud-spattered tuxedo was gone, and it had been replaced by another one in pristine condition. The front of his dress shirt was almost glowing. The satin lining of his cape shone, and the sequins and jewels embroidered into the garment's collar sparkled. A fedora had appeared on his head, covering his dark, brilliantined hair.

"What the hell?" Erik said unhelpfully.

"Oh…" gasped Christine.

Dracula smiled and raised his arms, and then brought his hands together in an elegant gesture. As he did so, the heavy curtains closed over the bedroom window, blocking out all natural light. Dracula clicked his fingers, and every light bulb in the building simultaneously exploded. The only source of light was now a golden glow not unlike candlelight. Erik looked up to see that there were, in fact, two dozen candles hovering in midair just below the ceiling.

"What the…?" he began again, and then was promptly silenced by the sight of Dracula moving towards Christine.

The vampire was walking as if he were bow-legged, but _elegantly_. A white mist swirled around his feet, adding to the effect.

"But that's how _I _walk!" said Erik. "At least, I walked like that the other day…"

Dracula ignored him. With an irresistible gesture which was mysteriously beautiful and beautifully mysterious, romantically tragic and tragically romantic, he reached out and took Christine's hand.

"Christine, my love," he said, in a voice which was like velvet dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with sweet icing sugar, with some whipped cream on top for added smoothness. "Come home with me. We can be together forever. I know what you desire, Christine. I know what you want more than anything else. And I can give it to you. _Look._"

Christine stared at him with large, hungry eyes.

Erik stood by the window, frozen with horror and disbelief. He had heard about the hypnotic abilities of vampires, but he was still shocked by the power Dracula seemed to have over Christine. It almost reminded Erik of something…

Dracula chose that moment to add the final touch to his costume: a white half-mask. Despite being almost the same colour as his pale skin, it suited him. In fact, he was the handsomest and most charismatic Phantom that Erik had ever seen.

"Oh…" said Christine, now completely enchanted. "My angel…"

The word seemed to pierce Erik's heart, and he whimpered involuntarily with pain. "No…please, Dracula. Don't…"

Dracula shot him a cruel smile, and turned his attention back to Christine.

"Yes, Christine," he said, in his chocolate-velvet voice. "I'm your Angel of Music. Come with me to my beautiful castle in darkest Transylvania, and I'll give you everything your heart desires, including…" he paused for effect, "…as many candles as you want!"

"Oooh!" said Christine happily.

"That hideous monster who calls himself the Phantom of the Opera isn't fit to breathe the same air as you!" said Dracula, gesturing at Erik. "Isn't he the most disgusting thing you've ever seen?"

Christine turned to look at Erik, and wrinkled her nose. Erik stared at her, waiting for her to say something.

"Ugh!" she said. "Keep it away from me!"

Erik sank to his knees, his hands clasped to his chest.

"Christine…" he whimpered, as tears began to trickle down his cheeks. "It's me. It's your Erik. Don't you know me?"

Erik reached out to take Christine's hand, but she shrank away from him in disgust.

"Don't touch me, you disgusting creature! Angel, save me from this monster! Save me!"

Erik was horrified. Christine's speech was becoming increasingly riddled with melodramatic clichés. Any minute now she would faint elegantly, before waking up five seconds later and asking where she was.

"He's not your angel, Christine! I'm the real Phantom of the Opera!" Erik looked at Dracula imploringly. "Please bring her back! I'll give you anything you want!"

"Thank you, old chap, but I've already got everything I want," said Dracula, smiling evilly. "The woman of my dreams clearly adores me, and I don't even have to feel bad about trying to kill her ex-boyfriend, or whatever you are. Come, Christine!"

Dracula took Christine by the hand and led her towards the door.

"Wait!" Erik cried.

Dracula paused and looked at him irritably. "What?"

"Don't do it, Dracula. It won't work."

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll never have Christine's love if you keep her like this," Erik continued. "She'll be no more real to you than one of her robotic mannequins. You can't mesmerise someone into loving you, especially if you're pretending to be someone you're not."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not a fussy man, isn't it?" said Dracula. "I'm quite happy to play a part if it means I can keep Christine. And she's not a mindless robot, are you, my dear?"

"No, dearest angel," said Christine in a monotone.

"And you love me, don't you?"

"Yes, dearest angel."

Dracula gave a smile of satisfaction and led Christine out into the hallway.

Erik's mind was racing. If he didn't think of something within the next few seconds, Christine and Dracula would be out the front door and he would never see his beloved again.

He thought.

He thought harder.

He had an idea.

"Christine!"

Christine turned to stare at him with vague disapproval.

"What is it now?" said Dracula angrily.

"Christine," said Erik, walking towards them. "If he's your Angel of Music, why don't you ask him to sing for you?"

"What?" said Christine.

"What?" said Dracula, looking slightly worried.

"Ask him to sing. Come on, Angel of Music! Sing a song for your protégée!"

Christine looked at Dracula hopefully. "Oh, please, angel! Please sing for me!"

"Maybe later," said Dracula, glaring at Erik.

"No, no! Sing for me now!"

"Later, Christine!" said Dracula desperately.

"He won't sing for you because he can't," said Erik triumphantly. To his surprise, he was rather enjoying this. "An Angel of Music who can't sing! Just imagine!"

Christine looked at Dracula confusedly. "Is this true, angel?"

Dracula said nothing. What could he say?

"I, on the other hand, am a true Angel of Music," Erik continued. "And I'll prove it to you."

Dracula bared his fangs threateningly. "Don't you _dare_!"

But Erik was already daring.

"_You're my ideal Gothic heroine, _

_And I'm your Angel, that's the truth,_

_Ignore this fool behind a mask,_

_And listen to the proof!"_

The dreadful lyrics were of no consequence; Erik's voice was probably the single most beautiful thing in Paris at that moment. Dracula continued to snarl at him, but Christine was smiling. Her eyes were losing their dead, hypnotised look. Erik continued.

"_I'm your chubby tuneful cello,_

_You're my sweet-voiced violin._

_We're meant to be together…_

_Now let's turn that vampire in!"_

"Enough of this foolishness!" screamed Dracula, seizing Christine's hand again. "Christine! You don't love him! You love me! I'll prove it!"

Erik watched as the vampire brought his face level with Christine's. He looked into her eyes and kissed her on the lips.

Christine's eyes grew wide. She lifted her hand to Dracula's mask and caressed its smooth surface. The kiss lasted for rather longer than was strictly necessary, but both parties seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Erik moaned with despair. His plan had failed. His voice was not enough, and Christine was lost forever.

Finally, they drew away from each other. Dracula grinned triumphantly as Christine continued to stare at him, her eyes sparkling.

Then, to Erik's astonishment, Christine's eyes narrowed. With a neat, elegant gesture, she lifted her hand and smacked Dracula across the mouth.

Author's Note:There will be more Angel in the final chapter and the epilogue, and the Phans (including Hermione) will make another appearance.


	22. The Little Pile of Dust

Author's Note: Thank you for reading the last chapter and leaving me lovely reviews. I hope you'll be pleased to hear that this is not the end of the story. There will be one final update, so please watch out for it. Thanks again for reading!

'**The Price of Fame'**

**Chapter 22: The Little Pile of Dust with the Doughnut in it.**

The candles vanished and the curtains opened, filling the room with sunlight once again. Christine's violent action had chased away all illusions, and the singer and the two rivals for her love stood in stunned silence.

Erik stared at Dracula. The vampire was clutching his cheek and gazing at Christine in shock. His disguise had melted away, leaving him in his old, muddy evening suit once more.

"Don't you ever try a stunt like that again!" cried Christine, her beautiful features contorting with fury. "How dare you prey on my weaknesses like that?"

Dracula looked devastated. "I…I thought you'd like it," he replied lamely.

"_Like it?_"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that!" said Dracula hurriedly. "My powers have never failed before," he turned to glare at Erik. "If it wasn't for his voice, you would have left with me and we would be happy…"

"No, Dracula, _you _would be happy! _I _would be in a permanent trance! How dare you! You promised you would never use your hypnotic powers on me! You've betrayed my trust."

It occurred to Erik that this was a slightly unfair thing to say in the light of recent events. Dracula obviously thought so too. He laughed bitterly.

"_Trust_, Christine? I'm surprised you know the meaning of the word! _You_ betrayed _my _trust too, or have you forgotten that? You led me to think that you loved me, and all the time you were just using me so you could win back that walking corpse over there!"

"Takes one to know one," said Erik huffily.

"You keep your non-existent nose out of this!" Dracula snapped.

"Don't speak to Erik like that!"

"I'll speak to Erik how I want!"

Dracula's eyes were blazing like dying red stars. Erik recognised the emotion, because he had been there. The vampire's rage and grief were about to explode, and Erik knew it would only take one wrong word before the red stars in his eyes became supernovas.

"You don't know when to stop, do you?" seethed Christine. "Well, you'll have to learn to control your temper, because I'm staying with Erik whether you like it or not!"

That did it. Sparks flew from Dracula's eyes.

"You'll stay with him over my dead body!" he shrieked.

"Well, technically, you already _are_…" Erik began.

"I'm sorry," Dracula growled. "I meant to say, 'you'll stay with him over _his _dead body!' Well, _un-dead_ body, to be precise! I haven't eaten in days, and I'm feeling rather peckish. I wonder what your Phans will say when they hear you're a vampire? Or whether your dear Christine will still fancy a living corpse who is _just that_? Let's find out, shall we?"

And Dracula opened his mouth in a terrible roar, his lips receding, his fangs lengthening. An overpowering smell of toothpaste filled the room.

Erik looked around frantically for an escape route. The door was no good; Dracula was standing right in front of it. Perhaps the window…

There was a banging noise in the hall, followed by the sound of feet on the stairs. A voice was raised in song.

"_Doughnuts are tasty, doughnuts are first rate. Whether they have holes or not, doughnuts are great…_"

_Angel_. Erik sighed. _Thank God._

Angel opened the bedroom door with rather too much enthusiasm, almost hitting Dracula in the face.

"_You can sprinkle them with sugar, you can…_oh," Angel stopped singing and stared at Dracula in surprise. Caught off guard, the vampire closed his mouth.

Angel looked at Erik, then at Christine, then at Dracula again, then at Erik.

"What's going on?" he said, his eyes glinting with concern.

"You!" snarled Dracula, pointing an accusing finger at Angel. "You're that damned hallucination! I knew you where real! Well, no matter! _You_ can be dessert!"

"Dessert!" said Erik, who had formulated a plan. "That reminds me! Angel, I want you to listen very carefully. Nadir is cooking _steak _for dinner, in the _kitchen._ I need you to go and _get it_ out of the oven."

Angel looked at Erik as if he'd gone mad.

"Erik…" he began slowly. "You _do_ realise Dracula's here, don't you? He looks angry…"

"Yes! Yes!" said Erik. "Which is why I want you to go and get the _steak _out of the oven. Unfortunately, it might be a bit _bloody_. Perhaps you should get the _garlic _bread out of the microwave while you're in there…"

Dracula had stopped baring his fangs and was following this exchange with a bewildered expression. Christine looked equally confused.

"Do you understand, Angel?" said Erik, looking at the other Phantom desperately. "I need you to get the _steak_. The _stake…_"

"No wonder you're so chubby," said Angel, shaking his head disapprovingly. "All you ever think about is food!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Angel…"

"Enough of this insane gibberish!" said Dracula. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes…"

Dracula opened his mouth and roared again, his fangs growing only slightly, but still enough to be threatening. Then he sprang and flew through the air towards Erik…

…and Angel's hand shot out between them. It was holding something round, sticky, and very sugary. It thrust the object between Dracula's jaws…

…and Dracula stopped in mid-leap, rolling on the floor, clawing desperately at the doughnut which had become wedged between his teeth.

Dracula coughed. Dracula choked. Dracula groaned.

Erik closed his eyes in horror.

When he opened them again, there was a small pile of black dust on the carpet. There was a doughnut in it.

"Er…" he said. "Is that...?"

"Yes," said Christine. Her face was very pale, and she was shaking.

"Is he…?"

"Yes."

"Is that a…?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I think I'm going to be sick…" said Christine. She ran from the room.

Erik turned to Angel, who was looking at the pile of dust guiltily.

"I don't understand it," he said sadly. "It wasn't even a garlic doughnut."

"Really?" said Erik, in surprise. "What was in it?"

"Nothing. It was just a plain doughnut coated with sugar."

They stood for a while in silence. Christine returned. She was crying.

"Oh, Christine," said Angel. "I'm so sorry…"

"You…weren't to know," Christine sobbed. "I'm just sorry it had to end for him…like this." She walked over to Erik and buried her face in his pyjamas. Erik crooned softly and stroked her hair.

Seconds later, there was the sound of more footsteps on the stairs. Van Helsing burst into the room, his crossbow at the ready.

"Everybody freeze!" he began, staring fiercely at nothing in particular. Then he noticed Christine, who was still sobbing into Erik's chest, and Angel, who was still looking guiltily at the floor.

Then he lowered his eyes and saw the little pile of dust. The pile of dust with the doughnut in it.

"Er…" he began, "is that…?"

"Yes," said Erik

"Is that a…?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"Oh."

"You're too late, Van Helsing," said Erik grimly.

Another face appeared in the doorway behind Van Helsing. Erik stared at it in surprise.

"Nadir? Oh, Nadir! I thought you'd been hypnotised! How did you…?"

Nadir winked conspiratorially. The truth dawned on Erik.

"Don't tell me you faked the whole thing?"

"Of course," said Nadir with a smile. "I did it so I could escape and get help," he pointed to Van Helsing.

Erik merely gaped.

"Come on, Erik! You didn't really think I'd succumbed to that silly little doll? You have my eternal friendship, but I'm not your Phan! What an ego…"

"Nadir Khan! Once again I've underestimated you!" said Erik, throwing his arms around his friend. "You scared me half to death! I'm so relieved you're all right!"

"Not half as relieved as I am about you," said Nadir. He broke the embrace and looked at the little pile of dust with the doughnut in it. "Is that…?"

"Yes."

"Is that a…?"

"Yes, it is," said Erik. "It's probably best not to go there."

Nadir looked at Angel. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

Angel nodded. "I shoved it between his teeth to stop him biting Erik. But there was no garlic in it! Nothing to hurt vampires! I swear!"

"Really?" said Van Helsing, examining the pile of dust with a magnifying glass. "How extraordinary!"

Christine lifted her head from Erik's chest and glared at Van Helsing.

"Do you mind, Professor? Dracula and I were close, and now he's dead! Please show some respect!"

Van Helsing looked at Christine in surprise. "Dead? Good heavens, no! Of course he's not dead!"

"He's not…dead?" said Christine.

"Of course not!" Van Helsing laughed.

"But he's a little pile of dust on the floor…with a doughnut in it."

"Yes, yes! But he's not dead!"

"If this is some kind of sick joke, Van Helsing…" Erik began irritably.

"No, it's not a joke! I promise! I've seen him reduced to this state dozens of times! Stakes and garlic have the same effect. They don't _kill_ him, not like your average vampire. They merely change his make-up. His molecular structure, if you will. He's still a vampire. He just looks like a pile of dust at the moment. No, what fascinates me is that a doughnut should have this effect on him. I shall have to conduct a new scientific study…"

"You mean he can be brought back?" said Erik worriedly.

"Of course! It's very simple. You just place him in a cool, confined space… a cellar, perhaps…and add water and nutrients. Gradually the particles of dust will expand and he'll grow back into his nasty old self again. It's a bit like watering a plant. No, that's not right…it's more like one of those pots of instant noodles where you add water and…"

"So you'll help him?" said Christine, grimacing at Van Helsing's analogy. "Even after everything he's done?"

"Yes. It's my duty. My job is to control monsters, not to permanently destroy them. Not if I can help it, anyway. Besides, the police will want him to make a full recovery so he can stand trial for what he did."

"No," said Erik solemnly. "There'll be no trial."

"What?" said the other four together.

"I've decided to drop all charges," said Erik. "I don't want to face Dracula in court and relive the events of the past few days. I don't want to give the media an even greater insight into mine and Christine's personal lives. I want this to end here, Van Helsing. I don't want revenge, or even justice. I just want a peaceful life."

"But it's not as simple as that," spluttered Van Helsing. "The police, the International Association of Vampire Hunters...what will I tell them?"

"Tell them they can do as they see fit, but Erik will have nothing to do with it," Erik paused, and glanced at Christine. "Oh, and please use your influence to ensure they treat Dracula humanely. I don't want any more suffering to come out of this. Not for any of us."

"I understand," said Van Helsing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get him swept up."

Ten minutes later, Dracula had been swept into a dustpan and poured into a jam jar, and the amazing doughnut was wrapped in tissue paper in one of Van Helsing's many pockets.

"Thank you for everything you've done, Professor," said Erik, holding out his hand to Van Helsing as the monster hunter prepared to leave.

"Not at all," replied the professor, shaking it.

"I hope you find an antidote to Dracula's anti-aging potion," said Angel.

"Actually, I'm starting to enjoy being young," said Van Helsing. "I like having more energy, for a start. It just annoys me that the universities won't take me seriously anymore…"

"I'll write to some universities on your behalf and assure them that you're the leading expert on vampires," said Erik. "After this high-profile case, I'm sure you'll be besieged with requests to visit as a guest-lecturer."

"I would be very grateful," said Van Helsing. "But why should they listen to you?"

"Because I'm one of the greatest minds of any generation," said Erik. "If they don't listen to me, then they're either very stupid or very jealous."

"Thank you, Monsieur Erik," said Van Helsing, bowing formally. "And congratulations on your impending marriage. If the rumours are true, of course…"

"Yes," said Christine, who looked a little better now. "They are."

Van Helsing smiled at her, said his goodbyes, and departed.

When he had gone, Erik turned to stare at Christine.

"Christine, did you really mean that?" he said. "Are you sure you still want to marry me?"

"Of course I am," said Christine.

"But you've been so withdrawn," said Erik. "You haven't seemed yourself since you came back to Paris. You've barely spoken to me! I thought you must have changed your mind!"

"Why should I do that?" said Christine, looking at him confusedly.

"Well, because I'm ugly, unpredictable and er…"

"Cantankerous?" Angel suggested helpfully.

"Self-obsessed?" supplied Nadir.

"Arrogant?" said Angel.

"Insecure?" said Nadir.

"Needy?" said Angel. "Destructive?"

"Yes," said Erik, glaring at his friends. "All of those things, I suppose._ Thank you_."

"Ah, yes," said Christine, with a smile. "But you're also loving and creative and brilliant, and I'm going to marry you whether you like it or not!"

"Oh, Christine," Erik whispered, struggling to hold back his tears. "But what about the nose?"

"Nose?" said Christine, looking puzzled.

"Nadir told me you went shopping for noses this morning," Erik explained. "Do you still want me to have plastic surgery?"

Christine smiled, then took Erik's hand and squeezed it gently. "Come with me. I've got something to show you…"

Christine led Erik out of the bedroom, pausing to retrieve the packages she had carelessly dropped in the doorway. Nadir made to follow them, but Angel held him back.

"Let them have some privacy, Nadir," said Angel. "Erik's a grown man. He can deal with this himself."

Nadir watched as Erik and Christine went into the living room and closed the door behind them. Angel noticed that the Daroga looked very close to tears.

"What's the matter, Nadir?"

"Oh, Angel. It's finally happening. He's finally going to marry her…"

"Aren't you happy for them?" asked Angel confusedly.

"Of course I am," Nadir replied. "It's just…"

"What?"

"If he marries Christine he won't need me anymore!"

"Isn't that a good thing?" said Angel.

"Yes, of course…but I'm used to feeling needed,Angel. He's my only real friend here in Paris…my only connection with the old days. Now he's going to move away with her and I'll be left on my own!"

"Ah," said Angel. "I see."

"I promised myself I'd keep an eye on him," said Nadir sadly. "All those years ago, when I first found him in Paris, I saw it as my responsibility to keep him in line. I've kept my promise. But now I'm losing him…Who am I going to take tea with in the afternoons now? Who am I going to nag?"

"You could have tea with me," said Angel kindly.

"Really?" said Nadir hopefully. "Proper tea? With lemon?"

Angel smiled. "Of course. Come into the kitchen and I'll make us some."

"What about the nagging?"

Angel grimaced. "I'll think about it."

So Nadir followed Angel into the kitchen, glancing suspiciously at the living room door as he went.

Behind the door, Erik and Christine were sitting on Nadir's sofa.

"I went to see a plastic surgeon this morning," said Christine, reaching into her handbag. "He's supposed to be the best there is. Look…" Christine handed Erik a page which had clearly been removed from a magazine. "Of course, there _was _all that unpleasant business with the cemeteries, but that was over two-hundred years ago, and he assures me his methods are now completely legal."

Erik looked down at the glossy page. It bore a vaguely familiar face, and a heading which read: **Victor Frankenstein Reveals All: The eminent plastic surgeon talks about his life, his work and his troubled relationship with his adopted son, Frank.**

"He actually _adopted_ Frank?" said Erik, aghast.

"Apparently so," said Christine.

"How odd. Frank never told me. But he never talks about Victor, so I suppose it's only natural. Still, how very odd."

"Well, Doctor Frankenstein seems a nice enough man," said Christine. "_Driven_, but nice. I told him about your rather unusual features, and he said he might be able to help you. If anyone can build you a nose, he can. You've suffered so much because of your face, Erik, and it just isn't fair. I want you to be happy."

Erik continued to stare down at the article.

"I'm not sure, Christine," he said quietly.

"But I thought this was what you wanted," said Christine. "In your delirium, you said…"

"I knowwhat I _said_, Christine," said Erik. "I've been saying it ever since I realised what I looked like. But I've never expected anything to change."

"I don't understand."

"I've lived with this face since I was born," Erik sighed. "It has been the bane of my existence. I'd give anything to be handsome, Christine. Handsome like Raoul, handsome like Dracula...but I know it isn't possible."

"But it might be…"

"No, Christine, it isn't. You see, no matter how much surgery I had, I don't think I'd ever be satisfied. My old face would always come back to haunt me, and I just don't think I could cope with that," Erik paused, and smiled wistfully. "Besides, can you imagine the outcry amongst the Phans? I don't think they'd care for an un-disfigured Phantom."

Christine was silent.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Erik continued. "But I'm the Phantom. The Phantom has a disfigured face, and that's all there is to it." He took her hand. "I hope you'll forgive me. I know how much you want me to have the surgery."

"I couldn't care less whether you have the surgery or not, Erik," said Christine. "I just think it's worth considering."

Erik stared at her in wonder. "What did you say?"

"I said I think it's worth-"

"No, not that bit, the other bit."

"I said that I couldn't care less whether you have the surgery or not," said Christine.

Erik stared at her in astonishment. "Really? You mean that you're prepared to live with it? You're happy to wake up every morning and see a face like this?"

"Well, if you can live with it I'm sure I can."

"But what about the Lloyd Webber Phantom? Don't you want me to be more like him?"

Christine sighed.

"Listen to me, Erik. I don't know what came over me after I saw the musical for the first time. All I know for sure is that I concocted a romantic fantasy, and I was desperate for it to come true. But now I realise that the musical was just an outlet for the feelings I still had for you. I wanted my Erik back, but I didn't think I could face you as you had been back then. There were too many unpleasant memories, and I think I was still afraid of you. So I tried to picture you as the Phantom from the musical, a Phantom with a different face," Christine's voice was shaking with emotion. "But when I thought I'd lost you, I realised it was you I wanted, and only you."

"Do you really mean that, Christine?" said Erik. A tear ran down his cheek.

"I swear it, Erik, and I'll prove it to you."

Christine reached inside one of her plastic bags and produced a small parcel. It had been lovingly wrapped in gold paper, and there was a little red bow tied around it. She held it out to the weeping Erik, who looked at her in surprise.

"What's this?"

"Open it and find out."

Erik untied the ribbon and removed the paper to reveal a little box covered in red velvet. He opened it and gasped.

"Oh, Christine," he breathed in awe. "It's beautiful…"

"I noticed that you'd given the other one to Angel, so I thought I'd buy you a new one."

Erik carefully removed the small gold locket from its box and held it up against the light. It was decorated with an intricate representation of a rose.

"The other locket I gave you has pictures of me and my father in it," said Christine. "I think you'll find that this one contains different pictures."

Erik opened the locket. In one small frame there was a recent photograph of Christine. In the other, there was a photograph of him, unmasked and smiling.

"Don't we make a sweet couple?"

To his surprise, Erik realised that he agreed with her. "Where did you get that photo of me, Christine?"

Christine smiled. "Nadir."

"You mean he knew about this? He didn't tell me."

"I just asked him for a photo, and he gave me one. I didn't tell him that I wanted it for a locket. He probably thinks I took it to show the plastic surgeon."

Erik nodded. "It's beautiful, Christine. Thank you."

"No more tears?" Christine asked hopefully.

Erik laughed. "No more tears today, Christine. But on the wedding day I'll be in pieces. You have been warned."

"The wedding!" said Christine excitedly. "We have so much to plan! We'll need to set a date, choose a venue and write a guest list, not to mention the catering! Who would you like as a best man?"

"Nadir, of course," said Erik with a smile. Then his face became serious again. "Christine, I want to marry you more than anything else, but I'd like to wait for a while."

"Why?"

"I want to give all the gossip surrounding recent events a chance to quieten down," said Erik. "I don't want my wedding to be overrun by reporters. And besides, we've been apart for so long. I don't suppose I'm alone in thinking we've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Yes, of course," said Christine, nodding in agreement. "We need to choose a time when the press won't be so interested in us. What about next year, a couple of weeks before Christmas, perhaps? That'll give us plenty of time to make plans."

"A festive wedding," mused Erik. "How delightful. No, I can't foresee any problems with that."

"Then it's settled," said Christine happily. Then her face grew serious. "But where are we going to live in the mean time? We can't impose on Nadir, and the Opera House seems out of the question at the moment."

"Don't worry about that," said Erik, rising from the sofa. "Let's go and talk to Angel."

"Why?"

Erik smiled secretively. "I have an idea."

---)---)---

Nadir had decided to cook a steak for dinner: it seemed oddly appropriate. He sat at the dining table next to Angel, who had proved a surprisingly pleasant tea-drinking companion. Erik and Christine sat opposite them. The atmosphere was slightly awkward, but friendly.

"You're looking much better this evening, Erik," remarked Nadir.

"I'm feeling much better," said Erik. "I've got a lot to be happy about."

"I thought you were dieting," Angel remarked, eyeing Erik's steak.

"Not tonight," said Erik, grinning. "Tonight I'm celebrating."

"He'll be back on the diet tomorrow, though," said Christine, without malice.

"Yes, dear, whatever you say," said Erik. "We have something important to tell you, Nadir…"

He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Nadir went downstairs to answer it.

There were voices on the stairs, accompanied by the sound of many feet, and a moment later a protesting Nadir was being pushed back into the dining room by a small crowd of determined Phans. Erik recognised Hermione, Michelle and Charles, who appeared to be the ring-leaders.

"What is all this?" demanded Erik, rising from his seat.

"Oh my God!" shrieked a small female Phan at the back of the crowd. "It's really him! Erik, will you marry me?"

Erik stared at her. Part of him feared for this girl's sanity, but another part was rather pleased that he had had two marriage proposals in the space of one week.

"Well, er…"

"He's taken," said Christine irritably.

"Oh, did you hear _that_?" said another Phan.

"Oh my God!"

"So the rumours are true!"

"They're getting married!"

This news was greeted with a cacophony of cheers and boos.

"What is this all about, Michelle?" Erik asked, when the row had died down a little.

"We want to show you something," said Michelle. "I think you'll like it!"

"Oh, will I?" said Erik worriedly. "That's a relief."

Michelle turned to the crowd. "Ready, you lot? Okay. One, two, three…"

The Phans held up a series of placards. Some of them had photographs of the Opera House managers on them, but with the notable addition of red devil's horns. Other placards had the words "Let Erik Haunt the House!" and "Get the Phantom off the Streets!" painted on them.

"What do we want?" shouted Hermione.

"Erik to be reinstated in his lair so he can resume his official role as the Opera Ghost!"

"When do we want it?"

"_Now!"_

Michelle beamed at Erik. "So, what do you think?"

"I don't know what to say," said Erik, who was genuinely touched.

"I think you need a better chant," observed Nadir.

"It's a work in progress, obviously," said Michelle, a trifle hurt.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Erik. "I appreciate all this. I really do."

This got a chorus of cheers.

"_But_," Erik continued, "There's really no need. You see, like I said before, Christine and I, well…it's true that we're getting married…"

More cheers and some notable boos.

"…and we've decided to leave Paris for a while."

"What?" said Nadir.

"What?" said the Phans.

"Christine and I need a long holiday," said Erik. "We intend to go somewhere far away where we can enjoy our engagement in private, which is why I must resign from my role as the Phantom of the Opera…"

The Phans gave a collective howl of grief.

"…_for a year_," Erik finished. He paused for a moment. "I have chosen a capable substitute who will take on my responsibilities in the meantime. Angel?"

Angel rose from his chair and bowed before the Phans.

"Angel is my past-self, but he enjoys the twenty-first century lifestyle rather too much to want to return to 1881 immediately," Erik explained. "He will be Erik while I'm gone. He will attend all the events I have scheduled, including charity fundraisers and film premieres. However, he has promised not to do anything which will provide the tabloids with additional gossip. That means no unnecessary criminal activities, no sunbathing in public places without a shirt on, and no dating. I have my reputation to consider."

Hermione glanced at Angel, and both their faces fell.

"In return for this sacrifice, I have promised to buy Angel a doughnut factory."

"I'll hold you to that promise," said Angel, perking up a little.

"Wait a minute," said Charles. "If Angel's going to be Erik, who's going to be Christine?"

"When Christine departs with me, Angel will be left all alone," Erik explained. "If the press ask questions, Nadir will inform them that our romance has been terminated. Will you do that for me, Nadir?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Angel has been instructed to stay in Nadir's apartment for the time being, in order to lull the managers into a false sense of security. Then he will return to the Opera when they least expect it. Angel is devious, sneaky, and terribly annoying. The managers don't stand a chance."

Angel grinned evilly.

"He will then live in my lair until I return to Paris, when we will discreetly switch places," Erik continued. "Then, our relationship apparently having healed itself, Christine and I will be married. And…" he paused for effect. "In return for keeping this whole thing a secret, you're all invited to the wedding!"

This got a loud communal cheer.

"Hurrah for Erik!" said Charles. Then the Phans began a rousing chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

"Yes, yes," said Erik, who was blushing slightly. "Thank you."

"So we're not having a protest anymore?" said a young male Phan disappointedly.

"No," said Michelle. She paused, looking thoughtful. "It seems we've got nothing to protest about!"

Murmurs of horror and consternation rippled through the group. Fortunately, at that moment another Phan ran into the room, panting and holding a photograph.

"Fellow Phans!" she said, eyeing the others desperately. "I've just been looking at some stills from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom movie on the internet, and it appears they've cut the Phantom's fedora!"

She held up her photo of a terribly handsome Phantom who had been tragically deprived of his favourite hat.

"Shame!" cried a Phan.

"To Pinewood Studios!" yelled another.

Pleased to have something new to protest about, the Phans filed down the stairs and out of Nadir's apartment, chanting and making hasty alterations to their placards.

Nadir closed the door behind them.

"Funny lot," he said, shaking his head. He went back into the kitchen only to find that one had stayed behind. It was Hermione, and Angel was trying to ask her something.

"Hermione, I was wondering if you would…er…that is…"

Remembering the promise he had made to Angel, Nadir rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, Angel wants to know if you'll go out to dinner with him when Erik has returned," he said, coming to the rescue of the suddenly shy Phantom.

"Oh, Angel," said Hermione, putting her arms around the Phantom and hugging him tightly. "You're such a sweetie! Of course I will!"

"Really?" said Angel.

"Really."

"That's the first time anyone's ever said yes to me," said Angel tearfully. "Are you sure? I know a year's a very long time to wait for a date."

"Not if it's worth waiting for," said Hermione, beaming. "Look, I've brought something for you."

She held up a plastic bag. Angel took it from her excitedly and reached inside it.

"Doughnuts!" he exclaimed. "Thank you so much!"

"I've got to run," said Hermione. "I'll be expected to support the fedora protest. I'll see you next summer, when you're free."

Angel nodded. "Next summer."

Hermione hugged him again, said goodbye to the others, and left Nadir's apartment. As soon as the front door closed behind her, Angel began to bounce around.

"She bought me doughnuts!" he cried, jumping up and down and clapping his hands together with joy. "You know what that means? It means she _likes me_! Someone finally _likes me_!"

Angel did a little improvised dance around Nadir's kitchen, which culminated in a rather impressive hand-stand on the dining table.

"Calm down, Angel!" said Christine, laughing.

While Christine tried to calm the excited Phantom, Nadir took Erik aside.

"Did you mean what you said about leaving Paris?" he enquired.

"Yes," said Erik. "Do you mind?"

"No, but I wish you'd let me go with you."

"I think there's someone else who needs you more," said Erik, glancing at the ebullient Angel. "Will you make sure he behaves acceptably while I'm gone?"

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you," Erik said, smiling. "There's another favour I'd like to ask of you. Will you be my best man?"

Nadir looked at Erik with tears in his eyes.

"I would be honoured, old friend."

Nadir and Erik embraced. Then Christine, who had been listening, came over and hugged both Erik and Nadir. Then Angel got down from the kitchen table and hugged all three of them in turn. Finally, they enjoyed a group hug.

"Anyone for doughnuts?" said Angel cheerfully, when the hug was over.

The other three said yes.

It appeared to be a happy ending.

Two days later, when Erik and Christine, unseen, had departed from Paris under cover of darkness, Nadir began to plan his best friend's wedding.

The date they had chosen was Monday 6th December 2004.

For some strange reason, this date seemed significant to Nadir, but he couldn't think why this should be.

Perhaps it was the birthday of a famous person, or the proposed date of a film premiere. Oh well, if it had been something important he would have remembered it.

Shrugging, Nadir picked up his phone to book the venue for the wedding reception.


	23. The Wedding of the Year

**Author's Note: **I'm finally back with the very last update! I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and generally supported this story!

A couple of people have asked me if I would consider writing a sequel. I'll certainly think about it, but if I do write a sequel it probably won't be for a good while, because there are other things which I would like to write now that I've finished this story. I would like to write another Phantom humour fic some time in the future, though, even if it isn't a sequel to "The Price of Fame."

Thanks again for your support and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Opera Cloak

"**The Price of Fame"**

**Chapter 23: The Wedding of the Year **

The big day had finally arrived.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of Erik's life. He was marrying his beloved Christine, and he was going to marry her at the Madeleine, with his own wedding march being played on the organ, just like he had always dreamed. Today would be the day he finally realised his age-old ambition, the only ambition which had ever really mattered to him.

Unfortunately, the day had started on a distinctly unromantic note. Erik had shut himself up in Nadir's bathroom, where he was currently being sick.

Nadir hovered around outside the door. After a while, he decided it was safe to knock.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

There was a series of muffled grunting noises from within, and the door opened. Erik looked at Nadir sheepishly. His face was even paler than usual, and he was shaking.

"How are you feeling?" said Nadir.

"Sick to the stomach and terrified," said Erik despairingly. "Oh, Nadir, why do I have to feel ill today of all days?"

"It's just nerves," said Nadir reassuringly. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. But we haven't much time. You'd better get dressed."

Erik went into the guest bedroom, where his wedding suit was hanging in the wardrobe. It was black and rather plain, but that was only because he planned to wear a cloak over it. The cloak was made of silk, and it had a beautiful gold lining. Erik had had it specially made for the wedding. His cravat was also of a deep, shimmering gold, and there was a golden band around his sleek black top hat.

The most impressive item, however, was his wedding mask. It was impressive because it was invisible.

The non-existent mask was the main cause of Erik's nervousness, but going mask-less was something he wanted to do, simply to prove that he _could_. Unfortunately, when he had asked Nadir and Angel for their opinions regarding this matter, they hadn't exactly filled him with confidence. Nadir had asked him if he was sure he could cope without his mask in front of all the guests and journalists, while Angel had suggested he wear a diamond-studded prosthetic nose for the occasion.

When he had dressed, Erik looked into the full-length mirror. His clothes were beautiful, and the cloak fell flatteringly around his tall frame. The diet had paid off, and he was now noticeably slimmer, though nowhere near as thin as he had been back in 1881; he had no desire to look like a walking skeleton again. He was in good physical health; in fact, after spending a year travelling the world with Christine, he had never felt better. Sunshine and fresh air had been reintroduced into his life, and he felt their benefits more every day.

His face was as ugly as ever, of course.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. It was Nadir again, and he was dressed in his best man's suit.

"Are you nearly ready?"

"Yes," Erik replied uncertainly. "Do you think I look all right?"

"You're the handsomest Phantom I've ever seen," said Nadir with a smile.

Erik rolled his eyes. "Is that supposed to be a compliment, Daroga?"

"Certainly. I'm sure Christine will say exactly the same thing."

Erik smiled weakly. "And the mask?"

"You should wear it more often. It's so very…_you_."

"Thank you, Nadir," said Erik, squeezing his friend's hand. "You've made a hideous old monster feel a little better about himself."

"You're not hideous, Erik."

Erik laughed out loud. "Liar!"

They were finally ready to leave. But, inevitably, something held them up. This "something" looked just like Erik, but a little plumper, and it wore a smart black evening suit with a pink carnation pinned to one lapel. It burst into the room uninvited, humming cheerfully to itself.

Nadir looked at it sternly.

"Angel! What are you doing here? You're supposed to stay under the Opera until after the wedding!"

"I was lonely," said Angel. He looked at Erik with pleading eyes. "Oh, Erik, please can I come to the wedding? I'll be on my best behaviour!"

Erik and Nadir looked at each other. Then Erik sighed. "I'm sorry, Angel. But you told me yourself that you find it difficult to turn invisible these days…"

"I think it's because I've been out of my novel for so long," said Angel sadly. "I'm becoming more…solid, I suppose. But I'll stick to the shadows. No one will see me. I promise!"

"We can't take the chance," said Erik.

Angel's face fell. "Then can I at least go to London with you tonight?"

"London?" said Erik, momentarily confused.

"He means the film premiere," said Nadir.

"Oh." Erik had somehow managed to forget about the new Phantom movie amidst the preparations for the wedding.

"You don't have to go," said Nadir. "It _is_ your wedding night. I'm sure they'd understand."

Erik sighed. "No, I should go. This is the most important thing to happen to my fandom in years."

"Even more important than your marriage?" Angel asked.

"Quite possibly," said Erik wistfully. "I really don't want to let my Phans down. Can you imagine what the papers would say if I didn't show up?"

"I can't believe you still care what the damned papers say," said Nadir disapprovingly. "After everything you've been through…"

"I care about my reputation," Erik retorted. "I fought the King of the Vampires to save it, and I'm not going to let a few tabloids ruin it just because I didn't go to a premiere."

"I could go in your place," said Angel hopefully.

Erik looked him up and down. "I don't think that's a very good idea, do you?"

"Why not? I've been pretending to be you for over a year."

"I know," said Erik. "And I'm very grateful to you, Angel. But the last time you appeared in public was months ago, when I was still away, before you…" Erik tailed off, not wishing to hurt Angel's feelings.

"Before I _what_?" said Angel suspiciously. "Before I got fat?"

"Well, you're not as slim as you used to be," said Erik carefully. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is: we look different, Angel. People might realise I'm using a double if we both make appearances on the same day."

"You could stick a pillow up your shirt," said Angel, sounding hurt.

"There _is _a way you could go to both the wedding _and _the premiere," said Nadir thoughtfully. "But you won't like it."

"Try me," said Angel.

"Go in disguise. You could pretend to be a Phan who's decided to go along in fancy dress."

Erik glared at Nadir. "This is my _wedding_, Nadir, not a Halloween party!"

"Well, judging by the guest list, it very easily _could_ be," Nadir laughed, then, noticing Erik's glare, added: "No offence meant, of course."

"Pretend to be a Phan? Do you really think I'd sink so low?" Angel demanded.

"I don't know," said Nadir. "Would you?"

"Well…" said Angel thoughtfully. "Yes, actually, I think I would. Why didn't I think of this before? I'm a master of disguise, _and _I'm going out with a Phan, so it'll be easy! You're a genius, Nadir!"

"There's a mask in the wardrobe," said Nadir. "I think you should put it on. It wouldn't do for you to look too realistic."

"This is so exciting!" said Angel, who had cheered up considerably. He opened the wardrobe door and began to search for the mask.

While Angel was distracted, Erik whispered into Nadir's ear.

"What do you think you're doing? This could end in disaster, and you know it!"

"Oh, come on, Erik! Be reasonable!" Nadir hissed back. "He's desperate to go to the wedding! Let him have his fun. I think he's earned it after everything he's done for you. And you still haven't bought him that doughnut factory."

"Well, I have been rather busy this year…" Erik began.

"Yes," said Nadir. "Reclining beside swimming pools with Christine. Very stressful and time-consuming, I'm sure."

"Don't be sarcastic, Nadir," said Erik irritably. "I'm supposed to be the sarcastic one, not you."

"I just think this would show Angel that you appreciate him," said Nadir. "He's been a good friend to you."

Nadir had a point. Over the last year, Angel had been…well, an angel.

Not long after the departure of Erik and Christine, Angel had come up with an ingenious plan which would ensure that the Phantom of the Opera regained immediate possession of his underground lair without any interference from the Opera House managers.

The plan was this: he would crush them both with a very large and very sparkly chandelier.

Nadir, however, had objected to this plan. So Angel had come up with a new one, which was even more ingenious than the first. It was really very simple, and no one would have to get crushed by anything.

For the first time ever, the Phantom of the Opera would offer to pay the managers rent.

When Nadir had gone to make them this offer, the managers had at first been extremely perplexed. They had pointed out that _Erik_ had a history of demanding money from _them_, and expressed suspicions that this might be some kind of trick.

Nadir had proceeded to explain that harbouring a famous Gothic monster in their cellar would not be such a bad thing when that monster was paying them outrageously large sums of money on a monthly basis.

As an example of an 'outrageously large sum of money,' Nadir wrote a figure on a piece of paper. The managers looked at it. It had quite a few zeros on the end.

The managers had then realised that they owed it to the Opera - no, to _Art itself_ - to accept the Phantom's offer. Then, after Nadir had gone, they had spent a full half-hour dancing around the office making whooping noises.

Angel had then moved into the lair. Apart from redecorating Erik's bedroom with wallpaper printed with doughnuts, he had been on his best behaviour ever since. He had played his part wonderfully in public – he was, after all, a bit of an expert – and he had even put on some weight to make himself resemble Erik more closely. Poor Angel! How was he to know that Erik would return from his holiday looking so slim?

To return to the present moment…

Erik sighed. "I'm sorry, Nadir. I suppose I should give him a bit more credit."

"There!" said Angel, stepping away from the wardrobe. He had donned a white mask, a black fedora, and a black cape with a red silk lining. He did a twirl for the benefit of Erik and Nadir. "How do I look?"

"Like a horror film cliché," said Erik. "But you'll do."

"Do you think I'll make a convincing Phan?" said Angel. "I'm a bit worried about having to enthuse about the Phantom of the Opera in public."

"Well, why don't you try it now?" said Erik. "I'll give you my expert opinion."

"I love Phantom!" said Angel enthusiastically. "No, wait a minute: I _love_ Phantom! No, I LOVE Phantom!!!!" He looked at Erik. "How was that?"

"Very good," said Erik. "Just add one more exclamation mark, and it'll be perfect."

Nadir looked at his watch. "We'd better go."

"I'll walk," said Angel. "It'll look very strange if Erik and I arrive together. I said I'd meet Hermione, anyway. Did I mention that I LOVE Phantom!!!!!?"

"Yes," groaned Nadir.

"Jolly good," said Angel.

A short time later, a black Rolls Royce drew up outside the Madeleine. Erik and Nadir got out, and were greeted by a row of flashing cameras.

The press had arrived. The Phans were lining the street. It was going to be the wedding of the year.

--)--)--

"**The Phantom and Christine Get Hitched Without a Hitch"**

**From _The Trivia Magazine, _Monday, 6th December 2004**

**The marriage of the Phantom of the Opera and Christine Daaé would be a remarkable event whatever the circumstances. But the decision to hold the ceremony on the same day as the world premiere of the film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical has raised many an eyebrow and thrown Erik's Phans into a phrenzy. Erik has steadfastly denied claims that the marriage is a spectacular publicity stunt, and insists that it is "merely an unfortunate coincidence" that the movie is premiering on his wedding night.**

**The critics can say what they like, for it is clear that Erik and Christine are deeply in love. After so many fights, break-ups and the occasional kidnapping, it is a miracle that the day of their marriage has finally arrived. Surely only true love can help a man and a woman overcome so many obstacles? **

**The ceremony took place this morning at the Madeleine church in central Paris. Phantom fans had congregated on the street outside, and some had even camped out over night to ensure they would get a good view of the comings and goings of the bride and groom. **

**The guests started to arrive at 10.30am. They were a fascinating bunch, all dressed in their finery. _The Trivia _spotted Frankenstein's "Frank" Monster, wearing an extra large suit and a golden bolt instead of a bow tie. He was followed by Raoul de Chagny, Christine's first husband. His arrival got a mixture of whistles, cheers and angry shouts of protest from the Phans, but the good-natured Raoul took it all in his stride. He was wearing a smart grey suit and his long hair was tied back with a matching silk ribbon. **

**Next to arrive was Professor Abraham Van Helsing, who was in the company of the lovely Ms. Cynthia Scoop of Inappropriate Action News. They were followed by a parade of V.I.Ps (Very Important Phans), who would be present inside the church. One of the male Phans had even decided to come dressed as his favourite Gothic hero! **

**Then came the moment the Phans had been waiting for. Erik arrived in a black Rolls Royce, and walked through the crowds with his best man, old friend and agent Nadir Khan, at his side. Erik's wedding suit was classic black with gold details; a beautiful cape with a golden lining trailed on the floor behind him like a monarch's robe. Surprisingly, he wore no mask. This caused some members of the crowd to utter loud gasps, but Erik did not seem to notice: he no doubt had more important things on his mind!**

**At last, the guests were invited to take their places in the church. The Madeleine had been tastefully decorated for the occasion with bouquets of white roses. Erik stood before the altar with Nadir. Suddenly, the church was filled with the sound of an organ playing the most incredible music. One of Erik's own compositions, the wedding march eludes description here. Let us just say that it provided a moving accompaniment to Christine Daaé's journey up the centre aisle. **

**Christine's wedding gown was a magnificent creation in white silk and lace, with a generous train. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders beneath her gauze wedding veil. In her hands she carried a bouquet of white roses. She took her place beside her husband-to-be, and the ceremony commenced. **

**The couple exchanged their vows with a touching sincerity and deep love which brought tears to this reporter's eyes. When the couple finally kissed, several Phans were sobbing. **

**Then, to the accompaniment of more of Erik's magnificent music, the couple left the church as Mr and Mrs Fantôme. They were showered with confetti at the doors, and Christine, laughing all the while, threw her bouquet into the crowd of Phans. A short fight broke out, but a young woman emerged triumphant, and kissed the aforementioned gentleman in the Phantom costume.**

**Finally, the newlyweds got into a white wedding car and drove off to attend their very first film premiere as a celebrity couple. Their commitment to their Phans on this their wedding day is admirable, and _The Trivia _would like to wish them a future filled with love and happiness.**

--)--)--

It is a little known fact that Erik owns a private plane. He had purchased it several years earlier, when he was feeling particularly glamorous and rather reckless.

It was called César, after Erik's favourite equine Opera star, because it was white and very fast. The similarity ended there, of course: César the horse had not possessed wings, and César the aeroplane did not much care for sugar lumps.

César the plane was kept, at great expense, in a small private hanger at Charles de Gaulle Airport, on the outskirts of Paris.

Erik and Christine had used César to fly all over the world during their year-long vacation. But today, César was going to perform an even more important duty, which was to get the Phantom and his companions to London in time for the premiere.

In addition to Erik and Christine, the small party consisted of Nadir, Raoul, Angel and Hermione. Stepping into the aircraft hanger, the latter two stared at César with looks of astonishment.

"You've got your own _plane_?" cried Hermione. "That is so unspeakably, so amazingly, so unbelievably _cool_!"

"I love this century," said Angel, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can buy anything!"

"Except love," said Erik, his arm draped around Christine's shoulders.

Nadir rolled his eyes. Erik was clearly feeling at his most romantic, which meant that he kept coming out with sentimental, slightly cheesy remarks such as that one. It also meant that his eyes were filled with a warm, golden glow, and he had a big goofy grin on his face. In short, he looked adorable. Due to his ugly appearance, this was considerably hard to achieve, but somehow he managed it. Christine kept cuddling him, and Erik, of course, was immeasurably pleased by this. He kissed her for the hundredth time since they had both said "I do."

"Except love," Angel echoed thoughtfully. He glanced at Hermione. She beamed at him.

"I caught Christine's bouquet!" she said.

"I know, my dear," Angel sighed.

"You've told us numerous times," said Erik.

"I'd watch out if I were you, Angel," said Christine. "She's formulating big plans in that sneaky little Phangirl brain of hers. Believe me, I should know."

Hermione grinned at Angel again. The poor Phantom had gone rather pale.

"It's all right, my Angel, I don't expect you to propose to me," said Hermione. She paused, and smirked evilly. "Yet."

Angel grew even paler.

Hermione started to laugh.

"Oh, Angel! You should see your face! You look terrified!"

"You mean you were joking?" said Angel.

"Of course, silly!"

"Oh," said Angel. He felt a little disappointed. "That's all right, then."

They all boarded the plane. It had a pleasant interior, and featured comfortable leather seats.

Another little known fact is that Erik is an experienced pilot. Given his fear of heights, his friends thought this was rather odd. But it actually made perfect sense, at least to Erik: he liked to wield power over the things that frightened him, and when he was flying a plane, he knew he was the one in control.

Today, however, Christine had persuaded him to hire a pilot. She had argued that he would not be able to concentrate on his wedding day, and Erik had reluctantly agreed with her.

As soon as the plane left the ground, he found himself regretting it. His power gone, Erik sat rigid in his chair, his eyes staring straight ahead, his fingers digging into the leather of the seat. He was breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" said Christine, looking at him worriedly.

"I'm…fine," Erik gasped. "Everything's fine." He paused for a moment. Then he wailed at the top of his voice: "I want to get off!"

Everyone in the cabin jumped, and turned to stare at him.

"Do you want another boiled sweet?" said Raoul's voice from the seat in front.

Erik shook his head. "No…thanks…"

Christine put her arm around the gasping, trembling Phantom.

"It's all right, sweetheart, we won't be up here long," she said gently. "Oh, Erik! Where did this come from? We've flown all over the place, and you were fine!"

"I don't have time to think about the height when I'm flying the plane myself," said Erik quietly. "I'm too busy concentrating…"

"Why are you so afraid of heights?" asked Angel.

"It's not so much heights, but a fear of falling from them," said Erik. "I'll tell you how it started, but it's going to sound silly."

"Tell us," said Christine. "We won't laugh."

"We promise," said Raoul.

"Well, it was the tenth anniversary of the musical in London," Erik began. "They'd invited me along to Her Majesty's Theatre for the special performance. It was the end of the show, and I'd had one or two glasses of champagne…Do I have to tell you this? It's rather embarrassing."

"Go on," said Christine.

"Well, there was this group of Phans in the audience, and they dared me to climb onto the angel statue during the speeches at the end. The statue is right at the top of the proscenium arch. I believe most actors wear safety harnesses while they're up there. Anyway, being in high spirits, I decided to do as they asked. I crept backstage and climbed up there without any trouble. One member of the creative team - I forget who - was making this rather nice speech congratulating everyone. I was just about to pop up out of the statue and shout "boo!" or something when I slipped…"

"Oh, dear," said Raoul. "Were you badly hurt?"

"No," said Erik, shuddering. "It was worse than that. You see, just before I slipped they'd wheeled this enormous tenth anniversary cake onto the stage and…well, let's just say it broke my fall. _Splat, _it went. The entire cast and creative team were covered with cake. It was such a nice cake, too. Fortunately it had an understudy waiting in the wings in case of emergencies. I apologised profusely and insisted on paying for the damage. Everyone thought it was hilariously funny. Except me, of course."

There was a pause. Erik glanced around at the faces of his companions. They all looked deadly serious.

"So you're saying," said Angel, "that the deeply ingrained psychological reason why you're afraid of heights is that you ruined Andrew Lloyd Webber's sponge cake?"

"Well, yes," said Erik, blushing. "Except I don't think it belonged to him exclusively. I believe Cameron Mackintosh had a share in it."

There was a pause.

Then everyone except Erik burst into fits of laughter.

"It's not funny!" Erik growled.

"Yes it is!" said Angel, wiping tears from his eyes.

"I tried to tell him how funny it was at the time," said Nadir, chuckling. "But he didn't believe me."

"Oh, Erik, you do take yourself far too seriously!" said Christine. "You should entertain us with your anecdotes more often!"

"Well," said Erik, a slight smile on his lips, "I suppose it _is _rather funny..." he was silent for a moment. "You know what's really strange? I don't feel so frightened anymore."

"Perhaps you just needed to talk about it," said Raoul insightfully.

"Perhaps I did," said Erik thoughtfully. "I just hope nothing like that happens tonight."

--)--)—

It was almost time for the premiere.

This momentous occasion was taking place at the Odeon Leicester Square. A large billboard on the front of the building bore a poster featuring the film's title and an image of the Phantom and Christine locked in an embrace. In front of the poster, a row of blazing torches informed the world at large that something exciting was happening.

There was a long red carpet leading up to the cinema's entrance, presumably to prevent the various celebrity invitees from getting lost. The long red carpet had hordes of people on either side of it, and they were very excited. Some of them were waving banners. They had slogans like "I Heart Erik" and "Where's the fedora?" printed on them. Fortunately for the film's stars and the numerous celebrity guests, the fans and Phans were kept in check by metal barriers which had been erected on either side of the carpet.

A white stretch limousine drew up at the foot of the red carpet. A chauffeur jumped out and opened one of the back doors. The Phantom of the Opera stepped out.

The crowd went wild.

Erik reached inside the car and took Christine's hand. He gave his wife an encouraging smile as she took her place beside him on the red carpet.

They both looked wonderful. Erik was wearing his traditional evening suit with the swallow-tailed coat, and Christine was dressed in a dark blue floor-length gown.

The crowd continued to go wild as Erik and Christine made their way towards the cinema entrance.

A few moments went by, and another limo drew up. Raoul got out.

The crowd went extremely wild and some onlookers began to ask Raoul for his autograph.

"Why is he getting so much attention?" said Erik, puzzled.

"I've no idea," said Christine, glancing over her shoulder. Several scraps of paper were being pushed into the viscount's hands. Someone shouted a name which Erik did not recognise.

"No, no!" Raoul laughed. "I'm sorry. I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm Raoul de Chagny…"

"Oh, dear!" Christine giggled. "He's been mistaken for one of the stars!"

"Which one?"

"The one who played Raoul."

"Oh," said Erik. "It makes sense, I suppose."

Erik and Christine signed a few autographs of their own; there was little chance of _them_ being mistaken for the stars. Now that his true identity had been established, Raoul did not seem to have many fans. Erik felt a little sorry for him.

Behind him, Nadir, Angel and Hermione were being greeted with almost complete indifference. Nadir was relieved: he hated to invite unwanted attention. He was pleased when they got inside the cinema.

It took a while for the guests to take their seats. Erik, Christine and their companions waited in silence for the film to begin. Erik was feeling very nervous. It was always the same when he went to a premiere. He always found himself dreading what he would see.

_What if this film gets my story completely wrong? _He thought. _Or, much worse: what if it gets it exactly right? _

Christine saw that he was trembling, and placed her hand on top of his.

The introductory speeches came to an end. The lights dimmed.

On the cinema screen, a candle flickered into life.

"So," said Erik, when the film was at an end, "what did you all think of it?"

There was a short, embarrassing silence. The others looked at each other. None of them wanted to voice the first opinion. Finally, Christine managed to pluck up enough courage.

"I enjoyed it very much," she said. "It wasn't as good as the stage version, of course, but I thought it was very beautiful. I loved the costumes."

Erik smiled at her. Then he turned to Nadir.

The Daroga gave a little shrug. "It was all right."

"I'm sorry you weren't in it," said Christine sympathetically.

"That's all right," said Nadir, with a wistful smile. "I'm used to it."

"Angel?" said Erik.

Angel stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It was good, but there was something missing."

"Doughnuts?" suggested Christine.

Angel looked at her as if she was mad. "Of course not! Where would doughnuts fit into a plot like that?"

"Carlotta could've used them for earrings," said Nadir.

"No, no, no," said Angel. "There should've been subtitles so we could sing a long. A bit of audience participation is always fun!"

Erik chuckled, and then looked for the next opinion. "Hermione?"

Hermione was still staring at the empty screen, apparently hypnotised. She had a huge grin on her face. Angel nudged her gently.

"What?" she said, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"Erik would like to know what you thought of the film, my dear," said Angel.

"Oh!" said Hermione, apparently waking from her day-dream. "Do you really have to ask? I thought it was the greatest movie in the history of the universe!"

Erik shuddered. He had heard those words before. Christine gave him a reassuring smile.

"And what did you think of it, Erik?"

Erik shrugged. "It was…_interesting. _ Not the best adaptation I've ever seen, but it was entertaining. Another edition to the amazingly varied collection of Phantom films, I suppose."

"That," said Nadir, "was an extremely diplomatic thing to say. I'm impressed."

"No, you misunderstand," said Erik. "I really did enjoy it. And you have to admit that the lair did look lovely. Deliciously over-the-top. I should very much like to meet the set designer."

The others stared at him.

"Are you feeling all right, Erik?" said Christine.

"I think I would like to purchase one of those bird-shaped beds…" Erik mused. He turned to look at Christine, who was staring at him worriedly. It was then that he burst out laughing.

"Oh, Christine! You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Erik!" cried Christine. "That wasn't funny!"

"You really had us worried for a minute," said Nadir sternly.

Erik continued to laugh good-naturedly. Finally, he managed to pull himself together.

"Seriously, though, I rather enjoyed it. It had a certain…_something_."

In truth, Erik was deeply relieved. The film was not a masterpiece, but it was not a complete embarrassment, either. Of course, he could sing far better than the man who had played him, and his disfigurement was much worse in reality, but these flaws had created a sort of distancing effect. He had been able to enjoy the movie as if it was not about him at all.

Erik realised that the difference between Dracula's cinematic vision and the film he had just seen was this: Dracula had wanted to mock him for who he was, while _this _version had attempted to take him seriously. The movie's creators had got some things right and some things wrong, so that a rather pleasing balance had been struck. He knew that his Phans would see the inaccuracies, and continue to respect him for who he was.

Erik smiled and took his new wife by the hand. "Come on, let's get going before anyone invites us to the after-party."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I thought of it?" said Raoul, as they were leaving the cinema.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Raoul," said Erik. "What did you think of it?"

"I…" Raoul suddenly seemed lost for words. "I…"

The others stopped and turned to look at him. They immediately saw that the young man's face was wet with tears.

"What's the matter, Raoul?" said Christine.

"Nothing, it's just that…that was the most moving experience…of my life…" Raoul began to sob.

Erik and Christine exchanged glances.

"It _was_ affecting in parts, but I really don't think it warrants this," said Erik, in a kind tone.

"No," said Raoul, looking up at them with a pair of sparkling blue eyes. "You don't understand! It's the first movie…where they've gotten my character…exactly right!"

Erik and Christine exchanged more glances.

"Er…" said Christine.

"Er…" said Erik.

"They managed to capture my heroism, my sweet nature, and my hair!" said Raoul, wiping his eyes and smiling delightedly. "It's as if they knew me personally!"

"Well, yes," said Christine. "He was a very…_Raoulesque_ Raoul. What do you think, Erik?"

She gave the Phantom a gentle nudge.

"Oh!" said Erik. "Yes! Very Raoulish, I'm sure. Angel?"

"Extremely Raoully," Angel agreed uncertainly.

"As Raoul-like as a Raoul-like Raoul could possibly be Raoul-like," said Nadir.

Erik gave him a funny look. "Let's not go overboard, Daroga."

Raoul beamed at them. The movie had made him happier than he had felt in a long time.

--)--)--

Later that night, Erik and Christine were sitting in their hotel room in central London.

"Well," said Christine. "We finally did it!"

"Did what?" said Erik drowsily.

Christine raised an eyebrow. "We got married! Don't tell me you've forgotten already. It was only this morning!"

Erik laughed. "How could I forget, my darling? I just find it hard to believe, that's all."

Christine smiled. "I love you, Erik."

"I love you too, Christine."

There was a moment of silence.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"It's our wedding night."

"I know, Christine."

"We're in a hotel room."

"Your powers of observation are second to none, my love."

"Well..." Christine was blushing now. "I was just, you know, wondering…"

"Yes?" said Erik. "What?"

Christine decided to go for it. She took a deep breath.

"Do you mind if I call room service? I fancy the vegetarian pizza."

"An excellent idea!" said Erik. "As long as we can get fries, too."

Later, as Erik sat eating pizza in the company of his new wife, he thought it had been the most beautiful wedding day he could ever have hoped for.

Christine smiled at him lovingly. Erik could not believe his luck.

**The End**


End file.
